The Fragile Armature of Bella Swan
by HypnoticMemories
Summary: Edward Cullen, painter, never planned to find a living Mona Lisa...especially not one with whom he holds secrets of her tortured past. His love for her and his secrets about her culminate into lust, love and ludicrous lies...Will he win her heart?
1. FAoBS

A/N: 

*Special thanks to my main beta, Susie, who has patiently been with me, and has also been my friend through the entire process! LY!

*Posted updates to occur every 3 weeks, but chapters 2 and 3 will be one week updates. Expect chapter 2 this Friday.

*Follow me on twitter for updates and awesome randomness... http:/www(dot)twitter(dot)com/eclipticalDust (or you can just go to my profile and click the shit out of the link)

*Enjoy!

* * *

Covering my bases on sensitive issues:

_**WARNING: PORTIONS OF THIS CHAPTER AND/OR STORY CONTAIN INSTANCES OF FLASHBACKS THAT CONTAIN THE SUGGESTED THEME OF NEAR SEXUAL ASSAULT. THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE YOUNGER THAN 16, OR WHO MAY BE TRIGGERED BY SUCH REFERENCES. YOU READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**_

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-(*)-

**-*-/Edward\\-*-**

The chalk scratched roughly across the surface as I rubbed it furiously in frustration.

"Could you please stop moving? I can't sketch you if you're going to move," I told the young, attractive woman who was seated on a white chair in my upscale Washington studio.

"Sorry," she said, stilling as I glared at her. "Continue."

I sighed, and then returned the chalk to the parchment. I skimmed a thin, black line to outline her graceful, curly hair, stopping only to glance up at her and repeat her elegant features through the chalk. I outlined her deep blue eyes and her small, eloquent nose before looking at the clock.

"We can continue again tomorrow, Tanya," I said, pulling the top sheet of parchment over the newly outlined sketch and turning away from the easel.

"Oh. Right." She smiled brightly at me, stood and headed for the studio's glass doors. "See you, tomorrow," she said, before fluttering out the doors and disappearing.

"Yes, I _so _look forward to it," I muttered sarcastically, walking over to the sink and putting my chalky hands under the automatic faucet. "Emmett, I am _so_ going to kick your ass for making me do this," I added under my breath.

My art studio stood in the heart of downtown Forks, Washington. The small, punctuated gallery opened a few months ago to good reviews from critics and patrons of my previous arts. My sketches hung in the local museums before I decided to try my hand at my own business. Now, three months later, Luck of The Draw was successful, having recently earned a prestigious art award from one of the state's most respected art galleries. One that just happened to also be one of the largest owned by the Swans.

I removed my hands from under the faucet and reached for the towel to dry them off with. I walked slowly back over to the easel and shut the case of my chalks. I looked up just as I was moving the easel back out of the way to see Emmett stroll in, food-in-hand.

"Hey, Picasso, you have to do with the Sour Pork, man," Emmett snickered, throwing the brown, greasy bag onto the counter. "You finish up with Tanya?"

"For today, yeah. Remind me to kick your fucking ass for sending all your pieces of ass to my studio," I stated, opening the bag and taking out a carton of Sour Pork.

Emmett, mouth stuffed full of egg roll, laughed. "They are _not_ my pieces of ass! Well, not _all_ of them, at least," he said, popping the rest of the roll in his mouth and chewing.

"You're such a pig, Emmett. It's amazing you can even _get_ a girl to talk to you."

"Speaking of girls, I kind of…" He trailed off, not meeting my eyes as I glared at him.

"Please tell me you didn't refer another girl to my studio? Emmett! Jesus Christ, I am too busy for any more clients!" I groaned, slamming my container of Chinese food onto the counter and leaning against the counter's edge. "Plus, I have to start doing my piece for the annual gallery show at the art center!" I ran my hand through my thick, course brown hair and sighed.

"Edward, my man, you want to take this one, trust me," he said, pointing the chopsticks he now held at me.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's that gallery owner's daughter. Um . . . Swenson? No . . . Swinger? No…" He screwed his face up in concentration.

"You look like you need to take a shit, Emmett. You mean Swan?"

"Yeah, that. Her dad called yesterday. His daughter wants her portrait done to send to her mom in like . . . Florida or something," Emmett explained.

"Damn it, Emmett. And you're telling me this _now_?" I huffed, lowering my hand from my hair and crossing my arms.

"Dude, calm down. The largest, wealthiest gallery owner asked you to do a portrait of his daughter, and you get upset? Please tell me you aren't gay?" Emmett replied, clearly amused.

"Fuck you, Emmett," I replied. "Did he at least leave a number where I can reach her?" I asked, reaching over to pick my food container back up. "The shit you get me into." I shook my head in disapproval.

"It's all in your handy-dandy notebook, Ed." He hesitated a minute; then added, "Not all women are like Angie, Edward."

I grunted, but said nothing.

It wasn't until I was about to close up the studio an hour later, and head to my apartment which rested above it, that I took a look in the notebook in which, Alice, my sister and appointment taker, wrote down the names and numbers of clients.

I sifted my fingertip over the letters that divided each section until I reached the S's. I scanned the names written in Alice's neat script, and found the very last entry to be the one I was in search of:

_**ISABELLA M. SWAN**_

_**555-7904**_

I took a pen from the desk and grabbed a Post-It, jotting it down hurriedly as I reached over to shut the desk lamp off. I would call her first thing tomorrow, before Tanya (I shuddered at just the thought of her coming back) came in to start on her chalk portrait again.

So Isabella's mother lived in Florida. That, for some reason, wasn't something I was expecting. My thoughts wandered as I made my way up to the small, clean apartment.

Mr. Swan never really spoke of Isabella's mother much when he delivered his religiously long speeches—usually when he had some reason to gather people at his large galleries. He spoke only briefly of his daughter, and I had never seen her before.

Tomorrow, I would call her and see what I could do for her. I needed to make Mr. Swan happy. And if that meant sketching his snotty, rich, spoiled daughter in achromatic detail, then I would do that. He could make or break my future. And that had me nervous.

"Fucking Emmett!" I grumbled as I turned out the light and let sleep take my thoughts with it.

**-*-/.\\-*-**

I stared at the phone for a second, wondering if eight in the morning was too soon to call someone, before I finally picked up the receiver and dialed Isabella Swan's telephone number. I sighed into the receiver as it rang. On the third ring, a soft, low voice came on the line.

"Hello?" the soft voice said into the mouthpiece.

"Uh . . . hi, my name is Edward Masen. I own Luck of The Draw. Your father said you are interested in a portrait?" I asked stoically to the softness on the other end of the line.

"Oh. Yes, I am. For my mother in Florida," she explained, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry I didn't call you on my own, but I have been very busy, you see," she went on to say.

"Not a problem, Ms. Swan. Did you want to set an appointment to look at my portfolio? I could get you in this afternoon…"

"Oh. The portfolio will not be necessary. I've seen your work, Mr. Masen. Especially with Charcoal and Conte Crayon pieces," she replied instantly.

She knew of Charcoal Conte Crayons? Was she an art major herself?

"Excuse me? Mr. Masen? Are you still there?" She said in reply to my sudden silence.

"Yes. Yes, I'm here. I could fit you in-," I reached for the notebook and flipped to today's schedule, "—this afternoon, about two?"

"I could do that, yes. That sounds fine. I would need to be gone by three-fifteen, though."

"That's fine. I can get your structure down. Maybe the outline as well," I told her.

"Great. See you then, Mr. Masen," she replied softly before hanging up.

I moved the phone from my ear and stared at it. I was still shocked that she knew what Conte Crayons were. Then I smiled to myself. Of course! Her father was a gallery owner and a well-known artist himself. She _would _know of these rarely used art tools.

"What are you smiling at?" Alice asked as she made her graceful entry into the room, holding a box of donuts. "Here, breakfast."

I hung the phone up and shrugged.

"Nothing," I told her, grabbing a jelly doughnut from the box and chewing on it.

"Tanya is here," Alice smirked. "Go get her, tiger."

"Bitch," I retorted, ruffling Alice's pixie-ish hair as I passed her.

"Watch the hair, Edward!"

I walked into the studio and grabbed the easel, bringing it forward and lifting the sheet covering the sketch. I dragged the stool over to the easel and opened my Conte Crayons. I smiled as I peered down at them. She knew what they were, and that was good enough for me. Perhaps she had an interest in art as her father, and I, did.

"OK, Tanya. Look at me," I said as I once again started to outline her.

The session seemed to drag on. After numerous times telling her not to move, and her babbling on about bullshit in her life that I didn't give a fuck about, it was finally over. After telling her she could not see the portrait until I had a chance to varnish it, she left me to clean up. I was just happy to be rid of her. I washed my hands and was just drying them when Alice skipped in.

"Your two is here," she said brightly. "She's quite the pretty one."

"Send her in, Alice," I replied, throwing the towel onto the counter and walking over to get a new canvas.

Alice disappeared back into the small lobby area as I finished getting the canvas onto the easel and peeled back the wax protector.

A moment later, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to greet her and was rendered speechless.

"Mr. Masen," she held out her hand. I shook it firmly.

She was fucking incredible. Her long, wavy chestnut brown hair fell across her shoulders in a cascade; her eyes were chocolate brown and deep. Her mouth, pouty and small, had an enlarged bottom lip. She wore dark denim jeans and a white V-neck shirt. She had a tiny frame and was quite pale.

"Edward Masen," I finally managed to get out. "Please, have a seat on the stool, there," I told her, pointing to the stool in the middle of the room.

She did so while looking around the studio. I watched her eyes dart to the paintings and cibachromes and lithographical pieces. Her eyes surveyed the prints with an eye that clearly knew exactly what mediums were used in each and every one of them.

"You do amazing offsets," she complimented. "Are they all using the conte?"

"No. Some use contour drawings. Excuse me, but are you an art major or something? You seem to know quite a bit about art tools and mediums," I asked her. I was fascinated. Nobody I knew understood what any of those things were.

"Yes, I go to Forks Art School," she explained, "majoring in Painting and Offset Printing."

I was impressed. It was hard to impress me, but she had done it. I picked up a black chalk and laughed out loud.

"Something humorous?"

"Stay still, please," I told her. "No. It's just . . . it's odd to have someone sitting in your art studio who knows exactly what the hell you're using. You just don't get that often," I mused.

"I suppose not," she said, giggling, "but Dad pretty much taught me from an early age what all those things were and what they did . . . what they do."

"Your dad taught you? So you knew all of this before you started the art school?" I asked her in honest curiosity.

"My dad has standards, you could say. He wanted me to follow him in the arts, so he would do whatever it took to take my interests in that direction."

I nodded as I outlined her neck. The curve of it was graceful and beautiful as I smudged the black chalk a little to add depth and shadow. She was perfectly still, even throughout my questions. I glanced at her often. Not because I needed to for the portrait, but because she was stunning, and my eyes could not pry from her features for too long. She was like a living Mona Lisa.

"What about you?" she asked softly. "Are your parents connected to the arts?"

I shook my head slightly. "No."

"Care to elaborate on that 'no'?"

"My father, Carlisle, is a doctor, as luck would have it. My mother, Esme, is an interior designer. No artistry, I'm afraid."

"But interior decor is a form of artistry. It takes a keen eye to reinvent a room, or to make it something totally unique," she returned, her voice filled with what I believed to be complete truth.

"Yes, I suppose so. Alice, who escorted you in here, is my sister. The only art she knows is make-up and fashion. And, if you can believe this, she can use lipstick like I can use this chalk," I chuckled, taking my thumb and rubbing the lines as to provide definition.

"Then she must be one hell of a lipstick artist," she said.

I turned to her and smiled. She was witty, intellectual and very cordial. I turned back to the outline, which was nearly complete, and put the chalk down on the easel.

"The outline is nearly completed," I told her, turning and smiling once again. "Later, I will go back and define the lines better and give your neckline some character."

"Great. Should I come back tomorrow, then?" she inquired, standing up and reaching into her jeans pocket.

"Sure. When are you free?" For her, I would _make_ time.

She held the cell phone that she had just pulled from her jeans open and looked through it quickly.

"Is six alright?" she asked, looking up at me.

"We close at five, actually," I regretted saying. "But, for you, I can make an exception, Ms. Swan."

_Holy shit! Was I actually staying past closing for the first time since opening for her? Fuck yeah, I was._

"I have classes until then. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all." I was fucking beaming inside.

"Please, call me Isabella, or just Bella, from now on."

"Isabella," I repeated. More for my own benefit then hers, just to hear it on the tip of my tongue.

"Right. So, I will see you at six then!"

"Six."

"You have . . . you have a bit of chalk on your face," she said, walking to me and licking her finger.

She brought her wet finger to my cheek and wiped softly, her face inches from my own. She lowered her hand and stepped back.

"There. Gone," she smiled. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I repeated, watching her walk from my studio.

_After hours . . . alone…_

_Do the fucking happy dance…_

_

* * *

_

**-*-/BELLA\\-*-**

"Isabella? Are you paying attention?" My art instructor, Phil, asked me the next morning as I sat in his small art room at Forks Art School.

I looked up through my long lashes at him and smiled. "Of course I am."

I twirled my paintbrush in my hand and looked at the work I had been doing for the past two weeks. The attention to the watercolor balance needed work. Phil agreed.

"Bella, you only have a week and a half to improve on this," he said, pointing to the inconsistency in shades of colors that littered the tan canvas. "I honestly don't know if you're even ready to take the finals."

"Explain that to my dad, Phil," I sighed noisily. "Look, I know my skills aren't exactly the_ best_, but they aren't exactly _bad_, either," I tried to reason.

"You're not your father's daughter in the art department, that's for sure," Phil said, moving to my other side to examine the painting more thoroughly. "You have one week, Isabella." He moved on to another student, and I frowned, setting the brush down and groaning.

One week until the Arts finals that determines if we graduate. Graduating with a major in art was unmatchable when trying to open a shop or even get a job, for that matter. My skills were lackluster, even to me. Not that I was a bad artist. I just needed some guidance.

Yesterday, when I had visited Luck of The Draw for my portrait, I had scanned the many canvases and papers in which the owner and artist, Edward, had beautified. His attention to simple details was loquacious and certainly impressionable. His color shadings were even-toned and balanced. And what he could do with the chalk crayon was masterful. He was an amazing artist, and my father often praised his ability to capture emotions and feelings within his workings; to envelope simple embodiments into each subject he sketched. I longed to be that good.

I scowled as I stood to close my paints and washed out my brush. I turned the tap on hot, and slid the coarse horse-hair brush under it, stroking the hairs with my fingers to loosen the paint.

To top it all off, my father was opening another gallery in Port Angeles at the end of the week. He planned to announce my graduation at the widely-publicized opening. Wouldn't it be embarrassing to have to tell him I failed? That the daughter of a prestigious artist _failed_ her art finals?

I watched the colored water swirl down the drain as I turned the faucet off and stuck the brush in the drying holder. I was screwed unless I could find someone who could help me . . . give me guidance. I turned, sighed, and headed for Phil's office as the bell rang for dismissal.

There was no way in _hell_ I was going to fail. There was no way I _could_.

"Phil," I approached him, wringing my hands in nervousness.

"Hmm, yes, Bella? What can I do for you?" he asked, looking up at me from the papers he was sifting through on his desk.

"I was wondering if you could give me extra lessons. Like, after school. It would help me so much…" I trailed off at the shaking of his head.

"I can't, Bella," he said, still shaking his head.

"Why?"

"As your instructor, it is against policy to do that, Bella. If this was not about the finals, and I was not your instructor, I would do it in a heartbeat. But, as it stands, I can't help you, I'm sorry." He turned his attention back to his papers. "Couldn't someone else give you some lessons?"

"Is that permitted?"

"Of course. Just not by anyone in your art classes or me. The policies are very strict about it, Bella. And you could be dismissed if you were caught," he warned, looking at me again.

"I _get_ it," I told him. "I think I know someone."

I walked out of Phil's office a few seconds later, a war waging in my head the whole time.

Tonight, when I arrived for my portrait appointment, I would ask Edward if he would give me private lessons to shore up my skills. Would he accept? Would he even have time to do it? He seemed so busy even before my request for him to draw me. I had no choice. This is what I would have to do to please my dad.

_Please don't say no, tonight, _I thought as I entered my next class. _Please._

**-*-/.\\-*-**

Forty-five after five, I was rushing out of the doors and into my small, compact blue Audi. I quickly pulled out my cell and thumbed through the numbers in my contacts list before I found Edward's shop number. I pressed send and waited for a response.

"Luck of The Draw," his deep, masculine voice greeted. "We are currently closed—"

"Edward? This is Isabella Swan," I interrupted calmly. "I'm running a bit late, and-"

"Not a problem, Bella. Get here when you can," he said softly.

"Ten minutes. I'm on my way," I told him. "Thanks again for accommodating me so late."

He told me not to worry about it and then hung up. I flipped the phone shut, threw it on the passenger side seat and pulled away from the curb.

He seemed . . . eager. His voice was bright and forgiving for someone who was staying past his studio hours to draw me.

I stepped to the studio doors a few minutes later. Edward was waiting for me and opened the door to let me pass. As soon as I was inside, I turned to him and smiled.

"I think I am," I told him, looking at my watch, "about three minutes early."

He chuckled. "After you," he gestured for me to walk ahead of him as he shut and locked the glass double doors.

I walked back into his studio and waited for him to tell me what to do next. He walked over to his easel and brought it back into the middle of the room, taking care to steady the canvas that occupied the spreaders on top.

"You can have a seat, Bella."

I walked over and sat once again on the wooden stool. I watched as he placed the chalk pieces in between his thumb and index finger, glanced at me, and then started his process of outline again.

"I'm loving how your features are strong; the focus of the sketch," he said after a few minutes of silence. "The graceful curve of your neck, the slope of your nose . . . you really are beautiful to profile."

"Thanks," I replied to his unexpected compliment.

He smiled, but kept on scratching at the canvas.

I scanned my eyes around his studio again as he worked away. I found the same tapestries and canvases as before, but also a new canvas that was propped against the wide, dark wooden table at the far end of his studio. The picture captured my attention, because the profile was that of a beautifully elegant, naked woman. Her hair was chestnut brown, like mine; her eyes were almond-shaped with green, liquefied irises. The curves of her breasts were soft, full. My eyes wandered down the flat, toned paint that made up her belly. The coarse pubic thatch was just visible through her bent legs.

_Where did this sketch come from? Who was the lovely girl in the portrait?_

"Is that a new portrait you're working on?" I asked, pointing to it with my chin.

He looked over at me to see where I was pointing, and then at the canvas of the attractive, young woman in the painting.

"Oh, that. That is for the annual art show, but that has been finished for ages," he said, breaking his chalk and cursing as he reached for another.

Something in the way he nonchalantly brushed it off made me think there was more to it than just an art show working.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," I apologized.

He stopped sketching and placed the chalk down on the easel. He turned to me slowly and smiled.

"Don't be sorry," he told me, walking over to the stool. "It is one of my best efforts, if I may be so bold," he laughed.

I laughed and looked over at the painting again. "Who is she?"

He sighed.

"Angie Weber," he replied darkly.

"Angie Weber? Who is Angie Weber?" I asked.

I had no idea who she was. I had never even heard of her. Edward looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"She was an ex-girlfriend of mine," he admitted. "She is also head of the Artistry Board."

He turned away from me and walked over to the canvas of her, his fingers reaching out to touch the bare paint of her upper arm.

"And you have her profile . . . _naked_?" I gasped. "Isn't there some kind of unwritten code of conduct or something?"

"No. This was done before she even got the position. But if she knew I was planning to show this at the art show…" He trailed off.

I slid off the stool and joined him, getting a closer look at the painting and his face. He was unsure, torn about entering it, I figured.

"Why? What would happen if she saw it?" I asked. "If you put so much into this piece, you should show it. You shouldn't need to worry about what someone else would think about it."

He chuckled. "Not everyone is like you, Bella."

"What do you mean?"

"If Angie saw it, she would flip out," he laughed. "And being on the Artistry Board…" He trailed off.

"If it helps, it's an amazing piece. She's pretty though, so I guess it was expected," I blurted out.

"Your portrait will be even more amazing than this, and it's just your face," he said softly, looking at me from the corner of his eye.

I smiled sheepishly.

"We didn't get much done it looks like," he said, turning back toward where my sketch rested on the easel.

"I suppose not," I chuckled. "I'm very sorry. If you can't do it, I wouldn't be offended," I offered. He seemed so swamped.

"What? And risk not seeing your beauty come to life in the final result? Nah." He smiled. "Besides, you are Charlie Swan's daughter. I doubt he would be very happy with me if I abandoned it."

The mention of my dad's name made my face fall. This afternoon's conversation with Phil reminded me that I was still not good enough. It had me worried.

"What's wrong?" Edward asked, noticing my facial expression.

His hand automatically reached out to lift my chin and bring my eyes level with his.

"Did I upset you with what I said?" he asked, clearly confused at my change of face.

His warm hand under my chin, and his intense gaze into my eyes made it impossible to speak. I just gazed into his gloriously deep, bright onyx eyes.

"No, it isn't that," I finally managed to kick my brain into talk mode again.

"What is troubling you, then?" he asked, lowering his hand from my chin, but still maintaining eye contact. "You look so crestfallen."

"I just had a rough day at school, that's all," I replied. "Art finals are in a week, and I am so swamped and so tired," I lied.

"Congrats, Bella! That is an amazing accomplishment. Before you know it, you will have your own studio and gallery, and your name in lights at the art conventions," he smiled, tapping me on the shoulder with his hands.

"Well . . . I wanted to actually ask you something about it," I said, biting my lip.

"Please don't bite your lip, sure it's sexy, until you gnaw it down to a bloody stump," Edward said, reaching up and pulling my lip free. "What is it you wanted to ask me?"

"Finals are in a week, and let's just say that I am not my dad when it comes to being natural in art. So . . . I know you're busy and all—so feel free to say no—but I was hoping you might give me some lessons on complimentary colors and the balance between symmetry?" I bit back the urge to bite my lip again.

"You want me to give you lessons on art? Watercolors, at that?" he sounded shocked.

I nodded. "Yes."

He thought a minute, his face screwed up in thought. He looked adorable.

"Okay, fine. Here's the deal: I will teach you whatever it is you need to know to pass the finals, if you accompany me to the annual art show on Friday night at the art center," Edward compromised.

"That sounds more like coercion then compromising," I teased. "Like a date?"

"We can keep it one-hundred percent professional if that is what you want, sure. In return, I will give you lessons here every night after the studio closes," he explained. "Because of, you know, your schedule," he added smoothly.

"Right. You mean it would be weird for a man who came without a date to show off a portrait of a naked ex," I laughed. "People would think you were using your hands for more than just drawing."

He cocked his head at me and squinted his eyes.

"Did-did you just make a sexual funny? A _masturbation_ joke?" he laughed out loud. "Oh. My, god."

"_Sexual funny_? Kind of a proper way to say it, but yes," I laughed, too.

I looked down at my watch and realized that we had spent nearly an hour just talking.

"Oh, I really have to get going. I have to meet some friends. Thank you for the lessons, in advance."

"Yes, I have to meet my brother in an hour. And it really isn't a problem," I smiled.

"Great. See you at six then, Edward."

I walked past him and to the double doors. He reached around me to unlock the doors and see me off.

"Goodbye, Isabella. See you tomorrow."

Little did I realize, I would be seeing her sooner rather than later….

* * *

A/N:

Thank you for reading. I update every 3rd Wednesday.

**Charcoal Conte Crayons**: Modern day chalk pencils.

**Cibachromes: **Photographs made from transparencies.

**Achromatic:** To sketch or draw without color.

Please review….

©HypnoticMemories (2010). Please _**do no**_t repost or edit this in any form.


	2. Diluted and Distilled

**DILUTED AND DISTILLED**

**2**

***This chapter is rated NC:17 for descriptive sexual behavior (End of chapter)**

***Follow me on twitter for updates: http:/www(dot)twitter(dot)com/eclipticaldust**

***Three week intervals to start. Make sure have me on alert.**

**

* * *

**Covering my bases on sensitive issues:  
_**WARNING: PORTIONS OF THIS CHAPTER AND/OR STORY CONTAIN INSTANCES OF FLASHBACKS THAT CONTAIN THE SUGGESTED THEME OF NEAR SEXUAL ASSAULT. THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE YOUNGER THAN 16, OR WHO MAY BE TRIGGERED BY SUCH REFERENCES. YOU READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**_

_**

* * *

**_

**-(*)-  
**

***E_D_W_A_R_D***

**-(*)-**

_I have (I have) you breathing down my neck (breathing down my neck)__  
__I don't (don't know) what you could possibly expect under this condition so__  
__I'll wait (I'll wait) for the ambulance to come (ambulance to come)__  
__Pick us up off the floor__  
__What did you possibly expect under this condition so__  
__Slow down.. this night's a perfect shade of__  
__Dark blue (dark blue)__  
__Have you ever been alone in a crowded room when I'm here with you__  
__I said the world could be burning down__  
__Dark blue (dark blue)__  
__Have you ever been alone in a crowded room well I'm here with you__  
__I said the world could be burning 'til there's nothing but dark blue..__  
__Just dark blue_

_**-(*)-**_

"No fucking way!" Emmett exclaimed, the vodka in his mouth spraying all over the table. "You are actually giving her _private_ lessons?" He pointed to the dancing girl with his finger still wrapped around the vodka glass.

We were sitting at Jake's bar and club down the street from Luck of the Draw. Alice was supposed to come along, but, instead, opted for a date with her boyfriend, Jasper. I protested bringing Emmett at first, who suggested I needed to 'get some ass,' but I didn't want to be the only one in the club alone.

"Fuck, Emmett. Can you not be disgusting for even _one_ night?" I shoved at him, brushing his backwash from my leather jacket. "And stop making it sound like I'm going to fuck her. It is strictly to help her out," I told him, picking up my own caramel colored vodka glass and draining it.

"Pull up your granny panties, Edward! Loosen up, man."

"How can I loosen up? Did you know she was going to be here?" I asked Emmett accusingly.

Over the pounding of the music and the flashing disco lights overhead, her body swayed and moved to the beat like a gazelle; her tight, skinny, black dress whooshing around her thighs as she spun around the tiled dance floor. She was in her own little world as the beat of the music pounded on.

Emmett shook his head as his eyes swung to the dancing figure on the dance floor. We both turned our heads to watch her as the music stopped and she made her way to the bar.

"I can see her ass cheeks," Emmett snorted, taking another swig of his drink. "Nice."

"Emmett…"

"Oh, give me a break! The body is fucking hot, even if she is a bit of a snobby bitch," he answered, setting the drink on the table and staring at me.

"You're always thinking with your cock," I replied, shaking my head as I stood and walking in the opposite direction of Emmett, and her.

"What?" I heard him call after me.

The music stopped as I got to the hall that led to the bathrooms. I jammed myself in between the people making out and drinking in the hallway and finally, made my way to the men's bathroom. I pushed open the door and immediately walked to the sink across from the urinals. My hands clamped down over the porcelain sides, and my eyes met the reflection in the mirror.

What was she doing here? Of all the weekends I have come here, this was the first time she had been here. Did her father let her come to this rowdy bar and club? I didn't think so. I wasn't upset she was here; I was just hoping I could contain my dick. The dress she was wearing left very little to the imagination, and the way she moved her body should be illegal.

I let the porcelain go and turned on the tap, gathering the cool water in my palms and splashing my face. I turned the tap off and left the bathroom, heading back to Emmett and his magical thinking cock.

"The waitress left your drink," Emmett said as I sat down across from him.

"So where is it?"

"Drank it. You piss, I diss," Emmett smiled, holding up the empty shot glass and shaking the ice inside.

"Prick," I said, scanning the dance floor for Bella. "Where is Ms. Swan?"

"Ms. Swan? I prefer 'Ms. Sweet Ass-cheeks," Emmett replied, and then shrugged. "I'm not her babysitter."

"I swear to fucking god, Em. If you make _one_ more crack about her ass…" I threatened, leaning forward and scowling at him.

He looked at me a moment, his eyes narrowing. "You _like _this chick?"

"What? No, no. Her father just _happens_ to be the gallery owner who is making my studio stay open, you moron," I explained, not all together truthfully. "And if she hears you talking about how your tongue and cock stand at attention over her ass, I'm sure he won't be giving my art a space in his galleries."

"Right. Well, at least my cock _gets_ attention," he smiled, then got up and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of dancers on the dance floor.

"Fuck you," I mumbled after him, rolling my eyes and leaning back in my chair, watching as the other dancers moved to the music that started up once more.

My eyes scanned the bodies huddled, searching for the black dress and familiar eyes. She was not visible anywhere that I could see, so I flagged down another waitress for another vodka on the rocks. If I was going to get trashed, might as well take it all the way. The waitress brought my drink and left. I reached for the glass, when a hand rested on mine.

"You really shouldn't drink so much of this; you can't make art if your head is buried in the toilet."

My eyes traced the hand to the arm, then the arm to the straps of her black dress. Her head leaned down to stare me in the eyes as I ascended upwards to her face.

"Ms. Swan. I didn't know you frequented Jake's! What are you doing here?" I replied as casually as I could.

She retracted her hand and folded her arms on the table in front of her as her eyes assessed me. A smile played on her lips as she looked down at the vodka and back to my eyes.

"They are the friends I told you I was meeting. A bunch of us are celebrating the finals. Well, _they_ are at least. I'm still wondering if there _should_ be a celebration for me or not, considering…" She trailed off. "Anyway, what are you doing here, Mr. Masen?"

"Edward, if you please," I told her with a smile. "I've been coming here with my brother for years. You kind of get attached to things you love," I added.

"Well, Edward, I didn't take you as a 'club hopper.' That's really interesting. Your brother?" she asked, looking around the club. "Can I meet him?"

I nearly had a heart attack at the mere thought. She seemed to feel the hesitation in my silence. She turned her attention back to me and winked.

"Maybe some other time. Anyway, I came over here to actually thank you again for agreeing to give me lessons. I know you could be doing something else, and it means a lot," she explained, picking up the glass of booze I ordered, and downing it in one gulp.

I stared at her in shock and then shook my head, as if to clear it.

"Yeah, of course. I remember how it was during my finals, and…" I trailed off. I was distracted by Bella licking the wet, cool vodka from her lips. My train of thought was lost, and I could feel my balls tighten. "…and it really isn't a problem. You help me out, and I help you out." I finished, crossing my legs under the table in restraint.

"Right," she replied.

I was going to reply to her when, to my horror, Emmett came walking back through the crowd and up to the table.

"Oh, shit," I said, wishing more than ever that the music would drown out his dialogue with her.

"Well, hello, hello," Emmett said to her, pulling the chair beside her out and sitting down.

"Name's Emmett." He struck his hand out to her and she took it.

"Hi, Emmett. I'm…" she started.

"Sweet ass cheeks girl, I know," he blurted out, smiling like a Cheshire cat at her.

"Oh, fucking Christ," I muttered, looking from him to her.

"Oh, charming," she laughed. "Flattering thing you are," she said, looking at me now.

"This is my fucking idiot brother. I'm so sorry for his rude behavior," I apologized, kicking him under the table with my foot. "He was dropped as a baby."

She laughed. "I guess his views on my ass could be worse."

Emmett smiled smugly at me and then looked between us. I didn't like him being this close to her. It made me fucking insane, in fact. There was no excuse for it, but I wanted to bury my fist in his face, the way he was eyeing her up.

The music started to pump from the speakers again as everyone swung onto the dance floor, swaying their sweaty bodies to the rhythm.

"Wanna dance, Sweet Cheeks?" Emmett asked Bella, leaving out the 'ass' part for my benefit. "This song kicks ass." He bobbed his head to the sounds of _Rihianna_ in the background.

Her eyes wandered to my own; searching them for permission, I guessed. She turned to Em and nodded.

"Why not, Emmett. I'm here to have _fun_, after all," she answered, standing up and waiting for Emmett to take her hand and guide her to the dance floor.

Before they disappeared completely, Bella looked over her shoulder and met my eyes. Was there a challenge in them? Was that twinkle I saw a mischievous glint? I had no clue. But, as she finally blended in to the crowd on the floor, my anger and jealousy was already at its limit. I really had no right to feel that way. She wasn't my girlfriend. She was just a customer of mine, who happened to want private art lessons after hours. No big deal. I could handle that as nothing more than a business relationship for the daughter of a respected art gallery owner.

_Right?_

My eyes scanned the dance floor for the two of them as the song droned on. I spotted them near the middle, the crowd around them thinning out slightly. The dress she was wearing slapped relentlessly around her thighs as Emmett danced closely behind her, his hands on her hips. She had her head turned as she danced on him, the music moving her body. Emmett wore a smile of pure arousal as she turned her body and he pulled her close to him by the waist.

That was all I needed. I stood quickly and made my way past the bar area. I entered the dance floor, my shoes clicking on the floor with each footfall. I reached them just as the song ended and they parted.

"Edward…" She smiled. "You didn't tell me your brother was a good dancer!" she added breathlessly.

"Edward, here, doesn't dance. He's too fucking boring," Em stated, rolling his eyes and blinking rapidly at me.

_If I punch him in the face, would she find that sexy or abusive? _ I thought bitterly as I planted a fake smile across my face.

"I draw and sketch, not bust-a-move. Besides, the songs they play in this place give me a headache," I replied, worming my way in between her and Emmett. "In theory, I _can't _dance. That is not to say I _won't_ dance."

"So what are you doing on the dance floor then?" Emmett asked, placing his hand on hips. "Get off the floor, man."

"Fuck you, Emmett," I told him, lightly pulling Bella by her elbow. "Would you like me to buy you a drink?"

She looked taken aback, but nodded her head. I led her away from the grips of Emmett and back to our table. I ordered Tequila for me and some white wine for her.

"I'm sorry for my brother," I apologized again. "He tends to flirt with anything that has tits."

She laughed.

"I mean . . . not _your_ tits . . . I meant _general_ tits," I spluttered, taking a long swig of my tequila and rubbing my face. "Sorry."

"Men have tits," she said, matter-of-factually.

"Right. Well, anything with tits and…" I hesitated. "Never mind."

I shook my head and watched as she sipped a slow, drawn-out drink of her wine. She placed her glass back on the table, and then spoke.

"So, tell me about your art. How you got into it."

"Well," I started, picking an ice cube from my tequila and popping it in my mouth. "My dad wanted me to be a doctor, like him. I used to sneak in crayons and paints under my father's nose. He didn't approve of the 'artistry of staying inside the lines'." I told her with a laugh. "I would sit in my room and draw on my smuggled in papers, and paint with my fingers while he was at his practice."

"Your father didn't want you to become an artist? Didn't you ever tell him that's what you wanted to do?" Bella asked, swirling her wine in her glass. "You don't seem like the type to give a shit."

I leaned forward and crunched down on the ice in my mouth. "No. He still hates the fact I own an art gallery. He knows it, now. I don't see him much. He tends to stay away from anything arty or creative. My mother is the supportive one."

"Sounds like my dad," she replied, stopping the swirling and looking up at me from under her lashes. "Only the opposite."

"You don't want to be an artist?" I asked her, surprise filling my voice. "Why does that strike me as odd?"

"Oh. No, it's not that I don't _want _to be an artist, I _do_. It's just, sometimes I think too much is expected of me," she corrected, her face falling slightly. "Dad thinks I have the 'art gene,' but it's not there. As much praise as he gets for his work, is as much _shit _as I get for mine," she stated, a bit sadly.

In an act of compassion, my hand jutted out and clasped over hers on the bottom of her wine glass.

"I'm sure that isn't true. Any kid of Charlie Swan's has to have the skills. I'm sure your father has seen your work and appreciated it," I assured her, watching her eyes on my hand closing over hers.

She seemed nervous and evasive at the contact of my hand.

"You haven't seen my canvases, Edward," she said.

"Could I? See them, I mean." I took my hand from hers.

"Oh. Now?"

"Sure, if it's alright…" I trailed off, not wanting to overstep my lines. "I could drive?"

"No driving needed. I have an apartment above one of dad's galleries a few blocks from here," she said while getting up and draining the rest of her wine. "I usually walk wherever I have to go."

"Let me go tell Em that I'm leaving. One sec," I told her, standing and heading off to find Emmett.

It wasn't too long before I found him in the middle of a pack of women at the bar.

"Em, I'm leaving. You're on your own," I told him.

He looked over my shoulder at Bella waiting for me and smiled. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small, red foil packet and waved it in the air.

"Hunker down and protect yourself, my brother," he laughed, sliding the condom package into my hands. "Nice."

I looked at the foil in my hand, then at Emmett.

"You really are a fucking douche bag, you know that? I'm going to see her art, you dick," I yelled.

"Is that what they call it these days?" he retorted.

I shook my head and placed the condom in my pocket as I left him, and the giggling girls, behind. I headed over to Bella and we made our way out the doors of Jake's.

The warm spring air swirled around us as we walked down the street, stopping at the corner to let a car pass us. Bella was significantly quieter then she had been at the bar.

"Your dad doesn't know about your difficulties in art school?" I questioned, more so because I wanted to break the silence than anything else.

"I couldn't tell him if I wanted to. Disappointment and all that," she looked straight ahead, her face a mask of nothing discernible.

"If they accepted you into the art courses, you have to have some talent in art, Isabella," I told her truthfully. "People are their own worst critics. I'm sure that's very true in your case."

She looked over at me now and smiled. "Are you trying to weasel your way out of those lessons, Edward?" Her eyebrows rose up and her lips opened to reveal perfectly white teeth.

I laughed and shook my head slightly.

"No, I never go back on a promise. I was just stating a true fact."

We walked the entire block before arriving before _De Caso,_ Charlie Swan's wildly popular art gallery in midtown Forks. The white pillars that made up the facade stood predominately on either side of the wide double glass doors; the stone stairway leading to them held architectural shapes molded out of concrete and metal screen. The etched lettering on the window of one of the doors verified that this was a Swan Gallery.

"Around the side," Bella said, walking into a small alley off the main street. "There is a private entrance."

I followed her into the lit walkway and over to an all-glass door, which had a small number pad attached to the frame. Her small fingers glided over the numbers in rapid fashion, and then a beep and click sounded from the door locking mechanism.

"Key-less entry," she explained. "Dad has this thing about me losing keys," she said, swinging the door open and stepping inside. "Come in."

I stepped in behind her as the light flicked on overhead automatically. She reached around me and closed the door as I surveyed the small, seemingly normal living area. If she was posh, she sure didn't live like it. She had a clean, nice apartment, but nothing you would ever expect a renowned gallery owner's daughter to have.

The room was small, but immaculately kept. The small, white leather couch stood against one wall, and a fireplace stood on the other side, with a big mural above it; a few lamps scattered around the room gave it a deep, earthly glow.

"No television?" I asked, observing none in the room.

"I don't really have the time to watch any," she replied, switching on the hallway light outside the living room. "The studio is this way."

I followed her through the hallway, through the clean, trendy kitchen and into a small room off the hallway. All the lights in the house came on automatically, and stayed on, as we walked. She flicked on the overhead lights and motioned around the room.

"This," she gestured in the general direction of the room, "is my studio. It's a bit crowded, but serves my purpose."

She was right. The room was small, and very, very crowded with art supplies and canvases. Her easel stood erect in the middle of the room, and her paints, chalks, paper Mache sculptors, along with a mini kiln and shrinker, stood against the far wall. Cartons of paper and canvas stood on top of those. Hanging from lines that were screwed into the ceiling, were pieces of watercolor visages that apparently had been left to dry, and never taken down. Hardened clay clumps stood stuck to the floor around the small table behind the easel, and on the walls, hung canvases of art that looked to be finished, and simply hung up unprotected with the many varnishes and protective epoxies an artist would use after to seal it.

"I'm going to go change out of this dress. In here, it isn't a good idea to wear nice clothes," she laughed. "Feel free to look around."

"You—" I started, turning around to talk to her, but found she was already gone. "-should protect those," I finished to myself.

I wandered around the room gazing at the monumental horse-tipped brushes, full free-ranged watercolors, emulsified papers, and her easel. I closed my eyes and reached out and ran my hand along the easel; the wood was cool against my palms as I traced it upward, feeling the knots and twists of the material. My hand hit smooth canvas, and I opened my eyes and gazed at the swirled colors and abstraction lines drawn onto it.

"You found my art final project," Bella said, walking back into the room now wearing a white tank top and black yoga pants. "So you see my problem." She walked over and stood beside me. She cocked her head to the side to look at the art that danced in front of us. "The color mix is just shit, and with water coloring, it should incorporate better," she sighed.

"Is this based on _The Last Judgment_?" I asked her, my curiosity peaked. "The one that occupies the walls of the Vatican?"

"Yeah. We had to copy a famous painting. I thought about using a Monet, but that's totally out of my league," she replied, reaching out and touching the dry paint of the angel cherubs as they danced in clouds of blue paint. "I chose another one of the famous '_Inglorious Bastards_' to imitate."

"And Michelangelo _isn't_?" I teased. "This is truly amazing, Bella. The amount of solid details are just . . . wow," I told her honestly, seizing the chance to really look at the painting.

The detail was unlike anything I had personally seen in any piece, whether it be humanism or impressionism, for a very long time. Her lines were much defined; almost all of the painting she had done so far was soft and bright. The coloring was a little unusual, but the rest of the painting was a complex—but very well done—piece.

My hand reached out and touched the painting. My fingertips glided along a cherub wing, and up to the puffy clouds she had carefully painted.

"Your art is incredible! I think you could give your father a run for his artsy money, Bella. It's lovely work." I turned to her and smiled. "I'm serious."

"The color," she reminded me, rolling her eyes toward the painting. "Michelangelo would be turning in his grave if he saw a lavender sky with tan clouds," she pointed out, a smile returning to her face.

I held up my finger in a gesture of 'wait' as I turned from her and strode across the room to where her paintbrushes and paints rested. Picking up her watercolor case and a brush, I walked back over to her and handed them to her.

"What? Is this a lesson?" she inquired, a smirk on her face.

"Let's go with that," I replied as I watched her sit the case on the easel and open the lid. She took the horse-hair brush and looked at me. "We need water."

"Right."

"There's an old mayonnaise jar beside the sink. Use that," she said, pointing the brush at the small sink beside the kiln. "Cold water, please. Hard water tends to stiffen the bristles."

I walked back over near the sink and grabbed the dirty, painted up jar, turning the tap on.

"Why do you use horse hair? Don't you like the synthetic bristles?" I asked, sticking the jar under the tap and filling it half way before strolling back over and sitting the water on the table behind her easel.

"You use synthetic brushes?" she asked, surprised. "Real hair tends to make for better color control, I find," she answered, dipping the brush tip into the cold water and then dipping it into the pale blue tint from her case.

I watched as she placed the brush tip to canvas and moved it in a semi-circle, her eyes transfixed and seemingly mesmerized by the paint as it began to drip down the material. She dipped the brush back into the water, tapped it on the rim, and went back into the white, so she could paint a cloud.

"See anything I'm doing wrong? You are the teacher right now," she smiled, not taking her eyes from the work before her.

"Well," I said, grabbing her wrist that held the brush and pulling it back slightly. "You're going in circles. You would get a better color rendering if you line stroked with the brush," I stated, pulling her wrist lightly back to the canvas and pulling the brush in solid, even strokes against it, instead of circles like she had been doing. "You also should add some white to the blue to make the hue more sky-like." I guided her hand down to her color palette and dipped the brush first, into the pale blue, and then into the ivory of the white.

"Have you used watercolor before, Edward?" she asked as I guided her hand back to the canvas once more. "All the paintings I've seen from you have been oil paintings or acrylic."

"Watercolor was never a strong point, Bella. With oil or acrylic, you get more depth in the painting. Although, with oil painting, it is very hard to correct mistakes," I said softly.

"Do you make mistakes often, then?"

"Not with the art, just with the subjects, sometimes."

I released her wrist and let her finish the small part of the painting on her own. She was getting the hang of pushing the brush rather than swirling it. She smiled as she stepped back away from the easel.

"It actually looks like a sky!" she exclaimed, placing the brush in the jar of water and turning to me. "You are amazing!" she said excitedly. She brushed a stray strand of hair back from her face, turned to shut her color case, and pulled the transparency over the freshly painted piece to protect it.

I noticed, as she turned to pick up the jar of water, that there was now a small, pale blue smudge on her face near the corner of her mouth. She turned to dump the water out when I stepped in front of her.

"You have paint on your face," I explained to ease the confusion on her face.

"Oh? Where?" She tilted her head up and to the side.

"Here," I said, placing my hands on either side of her jaw. My fingers on my right hand touched her lips as I softly rubbed the paint from the corner of her mouth.

She jerked away from my hand, her eyes falling to the floor in embarrassment at her own hesitation. After a moment, she brought her eyes back up to meet mine.

I looked into Bella's eyes and saw the flicker of something iridescent behind them. I tilted her face up with my thumbs and leaned in closer to her face, to the spot where the paint once rested; inhaling the smell of paint, I closed my eyes for a brief moment before meeting hers, which were wide open.

"Bella," I said in a low voice, releasing one hand from her face and reaching down to take the jar of water from her hands. "Let me get this," I told her, releasing my other hand from her face and turning my back to her as I wandered over to the sink.

If I did not release her, if I had remained touching her, there was no telling what would get ruined in this studio tonight. I could barely control myself as I dumped the water, squeezing my legs closed so that my growing erection could suffocate, the bastard. The softness of her skin and the smell of fresh paint that kissed her mouth were too much. Her eyes had flickered, but I could not be sure if it was anything other than her wondering why the fuck I was staring at her like that.

"Edward?" she called softly. "Is everything alright?"

She was concerned? That was unexpected, at best.

"Yeah," I answered, clearing my throat, still with my back to her. "Why wouldn't I be?"

_Dead rabbits…nuns…Disney movies…. _I thought quickly, trying to gain semi-softness before I turned around to her.

"Well . . . you dumped the water out of that jar about two minutes ago," she replied, laughing behind me.

"Shit. Sorry about that," I said apologetically, setting the jar on the counter and turning around with her brush in my hands.

"Here's your brush," I smiled, handing it to her.

Her smile told me that maybe my dick behaved itself and was in silent, soft slumber between my legs. Even though the smile that painted her face seemed oddly different; more reluctant. She turned and placed the clean brush back into its holder, then motioned to the many canvases that littered the table there.

"These," she pointed to the small, russet colored canvases, "are what you came to see, I think."

She lifted one and gazed at it as I made my way to her. I looked over her shoulder at the painting she clutched in her hands.

"It's a pair of hands holding a red, ripe apple," she explained, turning it so I could see the entire painting. It was an amazingly creative piece. The colors again were a little odd, but it did not take away from the beauty of her strokes and the detail she displayed, right down to the light ebbing off the corner of the apple. "I kind of wanted an Adam and Eve, garden of Eden-type feel to it."

"It's really beautiful," I said honestly. "Why do you keep saying your art isn't comparable to your father's? I find that art can be a deceiving tool when you start to imitate, Bella. You have a unique style to your paintings. An . . . _abundant _amount of talent," I said, reaching over her and picking up another painting. "And this one?"

"That one is a Tulip. The red bottom and the white tips are especially unique, which is why I chose that flower," she smiled. "That painting is a favorite of mine. It reminds me of a book cover or something," she shrugged.

I hesitated, then set the painting down and took the apple painting out of Bella's hands. I spun her around to look at me, and then took my hands away from her slim, warm body quickly after seeing the look on her face.

"Tell me something, Bella," I commanded her. "Why are you so disingenuous with your painting abilities? You are an exceptional painter—aside from the coloring problems—and you act as if the paintings belong outside in the dumpster."

"I want to-"

My cell in my pocket rang, interrupting her. I fished into my pocket and retrieved the phone, looking at the caller I.D. to see who it was.

_Emmett._

"Give me one second," I told her, walking a few steps and flipping the phone open.

"This better fucking be good, Em."

"Un-cuff her from the bed and get your kinky ass home," he said his voice low and raspy.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Angie is here and she isn't very happy," Emmett sighed.

"Fuck. Give me ten minutes, I'm on my way," I said, flipping the phone shut and stuffing it back into my pocket.

I turned to Bella and gave her a slight, apologetic smile.

"That was Emmett. Something came up at the studio, and I have to head over there. Thank you for showing me your amazing work, Bella. You really are an amazing artist," I said, walking over and touching the back of my hand to her cheek. "Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," she said breathlessly but flinched slightly as I lowered my hand from her cheek and turned.

"I can see myself out."

I walked through the apartment until I reached her door, opening it and exiting the same way I'd come. If I had half a brain, and did what my body wanted me to do, I would run back in there and kiss her something fierce. But, as it stood, I had other pressing matters to attend to.

If Angie wasn't happy, this could be very, very rocky ground; not only for me, but for my profession as an artist and for my gallery. Angie was not one to piss off. She knew way too much…

**-(*)-**

***B_E_L_L_A***

_-(*)-_

_Sometimes I feel so cold__  
__Like I'm waiting around all by myself__  
__Loneliness gets so old__  
__I'm in the lost and found sitting on the shelf__  
__Been stuck for way too long__  
__But I hear Your voice__  
__You're who I'm counting on__  
__Oh, tell me You're here__  
__That You will watch over me forever__  
__Oh, take hold of my heart__  
__Show me You'll love me forever__  
_-(*)-

I watched his back disappear through the door and sighed. For some fucked-up reason or another, I felt strangely alone all of a sudden. There was no reason to really feel this way, because I didn't know Edward very well. Yet, in some kind of twisted, completely fucked-up way, it seemed as if things felt better with him here, with me. Talking to him about art seemed right, dutiful. He wanted to kiss me earlier, I could see it in his eyes, but he seemed to change his mind, and that hurt. He probably didn't want to kiss me; he just felt pity for me. But, _I _had _wanted _him to kiss me. I would have inhaled his lips.

This was odd for me. I didn't let anyone get that close to me. I refused to even let a man touch me so intimately like Edward had. My reluctance was not butterflies. It was pure, unadulterated fear. When he touched me, I wanted to scream, but somehow, for some reason, I didn't. I mentally counted to ten, and let his touches absorb into me. Progress was made tonight. I feared being alone with any man, and yet, for reasons yet to be determined, I'd let him come into my home, even showed him where I live. I let him close to me. But why? Did I have feelings for him like that? Was this new trusting complexity between me and him real? Was my willingness to let him kiss me just a fucked-up coping mechanism for my damaged, irreparable loneliness?

There had to be a logical reason, other than me falling for him, that I let him get closer than anyone had in four years.

Not since…

"Just another person to hurt you," I murmured to myself, turning around to stare at the painting he had held in his hands minutes ago.

"Gah."

I had to paint something, anything. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, not with thoughts of him in my mind, so I may as well paint. I carefully reached over and took the opus off the easel, and laid it flat on the table, grabbing another backdrop and sitting it in its place on the easel, peeling back the transparency and stepping back.

I reached over and grabbed a random brush from the holder and took a deep breath. I stepped forward again and opened my watercolors yet again. Then, I just stood there.

"What the hell can I paint?" I asked myself, looking around and seeing nothing of interest to copy.

I closed my eyes and tried to think of the first thing that came to mind. I opened my eyes, dipped my brush into the black, and started to paint. I smiled as I freed myself and let the brush control where it went. I closed my eyes periodically, and imagined the subject which I was putting to canvas. I must have stood there for an hour or more painting and wiping, wiping and painting.

"All you artsy people are the same," someone said from behind me.

"Oh, Rose? And how are we 'all the same'?" I questioned, turning to see the blonde, slender, well-dressed figure of my best friend of five years standing in the studio doorway.

She walked further into the room and crinkled her nose. "You're all messy fuckers with the keen ability to get paid for coloring inside the lines," she said. "Come on, I brought Thai. The little Asian man has a crush on me, I swear! He gave me these cookies…" She trailed off at my laughter.

"Those are fortune cookies, Rose. Everyone gets them with take-out. It's a tradition," I laughed, closing the watercolor case and throwing the brush into the sink while running the tap.

"Fuck tradition, I'm special," she smiled, turning on her heels and leaving the room before she got anything on her Vera Wang.

I shook my head in amusement as I took the canvas off the easel and placed it against the wall, paint facing the brick. I walked across the studio, turned out the light and shut the door.

"You really need a life, Bella," Rose said as I entered the kitchen and sat down on a stool.

"Rose," I said, taking the carton she handed me, "last time I checked, art _is_ my life."

"You know that's not what I mean, Bella. You spend way too much time around that shit. When is the last time you got laid?" she asked, pointing her chopsticks at me and frowning.

"Rose…"

"Been a while, hasn't it?" she smirked, picking up noodles with her sticks and shoving them in her mouth. "Celibate."

"I am not! It's just I'm busy these days, and the whole Mike thing-" I trailed off at the look on Rose's face.

"'_The whole Mike thing?_'" Rose repeated darkly. "That motherfucker tried to _force _himself on you, Bella! If I hadn't walked in, he would have gone through with it!"

"Rose, just drop it," I told her, sticking my fingers in the Thai carton and pulling out a water chestnut. "It's old history," I told her, popping it into my mouth and chewing.

"Yes, _you_ did drop it, Bella. Did you ever figure out who shut the door as you screamed your head off for help in back of the gallery that night? No. Did you report it to the police? No," Rose yelled, slamming her carton on the kitchen island.

"You know I couldn't report it, Rose," I said, sitting the carton down. "It would get out and ruin Dad and give him unflattering attention. And it was too dark to see anything that night."

My face fell and my appetite was gone. Rose seemed to understand that I didn't want to speak about this anymore.

"Shit," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Bella. I didn't come here to make you upset. But, Bella, it has been four long years, and every day you beat yourself up. Hiding in your studio, or at one of your dad's galleries," she said, touching my arm softly.

"I went to Jake's tonight. That counts," I defended.

"Being dragged by collegian idiots who want to see your tits through a skimpy dress doesn't count," she told me. "I'm worried about you, Bella. You're so busy because you don't want to think about this anymore. But you're closing off everything else in your life right along with it."

I didn't reply. Instead, I pushed the food container further up the counter and stood. Walking to the fridge, and putting as much distance as I could between Rose and me, I told her about the private art lessons that Edward had agreed to supply me with.

"Really? Edward Masen? How . . . _generous _of him," she smirked, watching as I poured white wine and handed her a glass, then pouring another for myself.

"Relax. It's all business. And, anyway, aren't you worried that I will be all _alone_ with him?" I rolled my eyes at her as I shoved the wine bottle back in the fridge and sat back down.

"No. Edward Masen is too well known for that. Plus, he seems like a straight shooter. Plus, you have this thing where you won't let men touch you…" She trailed off.

"Have you met him, then?"

"Yeah, briefly. His shit," she rolled her eyes at my scowl, "alright, his _art_, is always hanging in the gallery, so we mingled for a few minutes a couple of times. Are the finals that bad?"

I nodded. "Phil is up my ass to get the color rendering right. Edward corrected my strokes-"

Rose burst out laughing. "Wow, it _has_ been a long time…" She roared with laughter.

"Rose, I thought I met the '_teddy bear moron_' tonight in Edward's brother, but I think you have just beaten him," I said, shaking my head in disapproval.

"So, how are you doing, Bella?" she asked, a suddenly serious tone emerging. "With your depression?"

"Alright. There are good days and bad days. The painting seems to help alleviate some of it." I replied, shrugging my shoulders in reply.

"I know you want to forget, baby, but you need to take care of yourself, too. I worry about you all alone here," Rose said, reaching over and hugging me tightly. 'I fucking love you, you know. And this mask you have, playing innocent, and normal, will just bite you in the ass, Isabella."

"Back at you, Rose," I replied. "The 'I fucking love you' part,'" I clarified.

"Still have flashbacks about it?"

I nodded into her shoulder and I could feel her hug me tighter.

"We can't have you suffering another breakdown, Isabella. I protected you twice, and I don't know if I can do it again; if I can even _handle_ it again."

"It's been a while, Rose. And I still remember it all. I love you, Rosalie, but you have to get the fuck out of my house," I laughed as she released me. "I have to go to sleep. I have early classes."

"Right, I got it. Did you need me to check your-"

"No, Rose. They are all fine, but thank you, and thanks for the Thai," I said, standing as she stood up to leave.

She bent to kiss my cheek, and then smiled at me.

"Tell me how those lessons go, my darling, Bella," she said, walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

"Every juicy detail," I promised. "Right down to the size of his chalk."

"And, Bella," she turned to me as she opened the apartment door. "If . . . if you find yourself in a situation where you are comfortable with him, just remember that he isn't Mike. If he truly loves you for your heart, he will never, ever, even think about anything like that," she said. "Fucking love you!"

And she was gone.

**-(*)-**

_Healing comes so painfully__  
__And it chills to the bone__  
__Will anyone get close to me?__  
__I'm damaged, as I'm sure you know__  
__There's mending for my soul__  
__An ending to this fear__  
__**-(*)-**_

I wandered into the bedroom a little while after Rose had left intent to sleep some tonight. I walked into the bathroom that connected to my room and turned the shower on, letting the water slowly cascade down into the tub as I stripped off my clothing.

Grabbing a clean towel from the vanity, I turned and placed it on the bar before getting in the shower. I tilted my head under the shower head and let the warm water flow down and hit my face and shoulders before it slid down the rest of my body. I closed my eyes and placed my forehead against the wet tile of the shower wall, quickly losing my sense of reality. They always came in sporadic, unwanted times.

A quick flash behind my tightly closed eyes, and then:

"_Bella! In here!" Mike had said, pulling me by the hand into a dark, abandoned studio._

"_Mike, come on. Somebody will see us," I had replied, trying to pry my hand from his._

"_It's only kissing, Bella." He had assured me, closing the door and pulling me over to the small, black leather loveseat that sat against the wall of the small room. "No big deal. You can trust me," he had told me, smiling in the dark._

I could feel my knees start to give out as I slid down the shower wall, my eyes still tightly shut, and fresh sobs rushing out of me. I slid all the way into the tub, and huddled there, in the wet puddles, in a fetal position, my arms snaking around my legs as I brought them to my chest.

"_Five minutes," I had told him as he reached his lips to mine, his hand resting on my knee._

"_Relax, Bella. You're way too tense." He had slid his hand further up my leg until his fingers curved near my inner thigh._

_I had broken the kiss, and tried to move his hand from my leg._

"_Bella, Goddamn it, would you lighten up? You know you want me to," he had said, crushing his mouth to mine and holding my arm firmly, painfully, with the other._

"_No!" I protested, "You're hurting me, Mike," I had said, trying to jerk free of his grip._

I opened my eyes as the water started to turn cold, snapping me back into reality. I righted myself into a sitting position and reached up for the body poof that hung over the tub faucet. I was still crying broken sobs as I took the poof and shakily squirted body wash on it, and lathered it up until bubbles covered the entire sponge. I placed one hand against the shower wall, as I hung my head and started to scrub my breasts roughly, as if to clean the invisible dirt that I felt on my body. The filth that I had let touch me could never be washed away, but it never stopped me from trying. I scrubbed my breasts as hard as I could with the soft, puffy poof, before I moved to my crotch and repeated the rough cleaning to attempt to clean the areas where his hands had once been.

The sobs that consumed me continued as I dropped the poof in the bottom of the shower. I reached out and grabbed the towel that was on the bar and wrapped it around me. I didn't even have the strength to get out of the shower. I reached over, turned the shower off and slunk down once more to the wet, cold porcelain of the tub. Curling up, I placed my cheek to the tub and cried.

In the distance of the apartment, in the quiet of the empty rooms, I could still hear the chilling words he had spoken to me, the violence he'd bestowed upon me that night. The damage he'd inflicted on me, the damage he'd inflicted on my nights. In every single shadow, in every single corner of darkness, he was there, and I could feel his phantom fingers tracing my breasts as I struggled against him.

I was shivering now, but whether it was from the cold, damp tub, or because of the trauma of tragedy that had happened in my life, was unknown. The only thing possibly more tragic than what almost happened was what could have been stopped had that one person, the person in the shadows that night, had not ignored the pleas and the terror in my voice as I tried to scream for help.

Had they not simply walked away…

This person _helped_ destroy me. The power of silence was why I was lying on the tub floor, cold, naked, and damaged…

*E_D_W_A_R_D*

**-(*)-**

_This means nothing to me__  
__'Cause you are nothing to me__  
__And it means nothing to me__  
__That you blew this away__  
__'Cause you could've been number one__  
__If you only found the time__  
__And you could've ruled the whole world__  
__If you had the chance__  
__You could've been number one__  
__And you could've ruled the whole world__  
__And we could've had so much fun__  
__But you blew it away__  
__You're still nothing to me__  
__And this is nothing to me__  
__And you don't know what you've done__  
__But I'll give you a clue__  
__**-(*)-**__**  
**_

I opened the doors to the studio and immediately saw Emmett standing in the reception area with Angie. Her face was a rough mask of anger and irritated hurt. Her hair slung back gracefully behind the white polo shirt she wore, accentuating the curve of her neck and shoulders, and giving notice to her breasts as they peaked through the white material covering her chest.

"Like what you see?" Angie spat, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring the shit out of my face.

"Last time I checked, I am still a man, so yes, I like them. I'd love them even more if they weren't silicone and plastic nipples," I replied simply for the satisfaction the horror on her face would give me.

"Barbie titties," Emmett laughed, shaking his head. "I knew it."

"Emmett, leave us alone," I told him.

"But-" he started to protest.

"Now, Em."

He turned to Angie and shook his head at her before heading off to the back of the studio. She watched him disappear before turning back to me and uncrossing her arms.

"What are you doing here, Angie? Don't tell me this is a visit to tell me how much you love me, we both know that's bullshit," I told her, walking past her and into the small room I normally used for conferences.

"You're right, it's not," she answered, walking in behind me and shutting the door before turning to me. "Want to tell me what you were doing walking off from Jake's with Isabella Swan?"

I turned to her sharply. "You were _there_?"

"At the bar, yes," she replied, walking over to the small conference table suspended in the middle of the room, and sitting on it.

"Does the art board know that you frequent bars, Angie? Kind of a misstep from your duties on the board, isn't it?" I asked, heading over to the chair on the other side of the table and sitting down.

"Only if I get caught, Edward. Answer my question. What were you doing leaving with her?" Angie asked again.

"Is this really any of your fucking business? Why do you care so much about what I do? You left _me,_ Angie. I didn't leave _you_," I explained the obvious to her. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"You know why I broke it off, Edward. And I doubt you want that getting out, right? It was the right thing for me to do, and you know it," she assured me. "Why are you leaving bars with Charlie Swan's daughter?"

"She wants a portrait finished for her mother. Happy?" I scowled, slumping back in the chair and groaning.

"So late at night? You can do better than that, Edward. Where did you go with her?" she pressed.

"She was showing me her paintings, Angie. Jesus Christ, who are you, my own personal GPS?" I growled. "What do you care?"

"Friends with benefits," she replied, slipping off the table and walking around to kneel in front of me. "You know the deal. I keep it quiet and make things a lot easier for you, if you keep your side of the deal," she finished, slipping her hands up to unbuckle my pants button.

"You are just as guilty in this as I am," I told her. "A partner in crime."

Her hands pulled and tugged the zipper of my pants down, as she looked up through her lashes. Her hands dove slowly inside the material of my jeans, as she stroked the boxer's elastic waist band; her fingers curving and drawing the material away from my skin.

"I still _want_ you, Edward," she said huskily. "I made a mistake breaking it off with you."

"You made a mistake only because of my success with the gallery and studio. You're into yourself, Angie. You're all about the fucking notoriety."

Her fingers traced the warm, softness of my dick as she continued to look up at me, her eyes playing innocent as she stroked lightly.

"I know things; things that have nothing to do with art. Is this so much to ask for, Edward? A simple fuck here and there?" Angie implored, pulling my now rock-hard cock from its restrictive fabric prison. "You are mine, Edward. You can't have anyone else. Not even the notorious gallery owner's daughter."

She dipped her head, and I felt the wet, smooth lips curl around the head of my cock. My hands automatically went to her hair, pushing and guiding as her teeth glided along, moans issuing from my mouth in guttural growls. Her mouth ascended back up to the head, and she licked it, causing my head to roll back. She passed up and down my hard length a few more times before she stood and removed her polo shirt, throwing it to the floor.

I reached over and grabbed her jeans belt loop, pulling her roughly onto my naked lap. My lips found hers while my hand greedily felt for her nipple and squeezed.

"I told you before they were real," she moaned breathlessly into my ear. "Go ahead, I know you want to."

My hand left her breast and traveled down her stomach, past her hips, and slipped in between her inner thighs. My breathing was erratic and heavy as I felt the heat of her. My hand cupped her, rubbing softly and slowly through her jeans.

"This means nothing to me," I told her, looking her right in her eyes. "This is just . . . you're just someone to _fuck_. I don't want you anymore, Ang. Not the way you want me," I told her, moving my hand to her zipper.

"As long as I'm the _only_ one you're fucking, I mean _everything _to you," she replied, standing and pulling her pants the rest of the way down, showing the lace panties underneath in which a small patch of pubic hair was visible. "I want to keep it this way."

I did not tell her that her logic was wrong, that I had no feelings for her whatsoever, that the only reason I fucked her was so she would keep her mouth shut. She meant nothing to me, and I had no interest in her anymore. The man in me craved sex, and she was the willing participant. I had to do this to save my reputation, my business and my pride. I was ashamed of what I did, but there was nothing I could do to go back to that night and change things. But I also knew that I could not let anyone know about this. And the fact I had interest, a romantic interest, in Bella, meant that this secret could rip us apart, send us reeling into a world of pain and sorrow if Bella and I were to come together.

She leaned forward and smiled. My eyes darted to her panties, then back to her eyes. My hands reached out and tugged on the lace on either side of her hip, pulling them free and letting them drop. She stepped out from them and kicked them to the side, letting them join her shirt and jeans.

I once again pulled her roughly onto my lap, moving her legs so that her pussy was aligned with my hard member, her inner thighs rubbing against mine. I roughly reached into her hair and pulled her head back, kissing her neck with the occasional bite mixed in.

"You aren't shit to me. You and I fuck, we don't date, we don't make love—we _fuck_," I shoved at her, reaching down and grabbing the base of my dick in my hand. "It's your only use to me."

And I rammed my hard cock into her, hard. I heard her gasp in shock as she placed her hands on my shoulders. I pulled out halfway and slammed home again, causing Angie to moan with pleasure, and scrape her fingers across my shoulder blades. My hands reached down and pulled her ass cheeks apart for a deeper, more intense angle as I continued to slam into her heat with fast, pulsating thrusts.

She was not Angie anymore once I stretched her and become one with her. My mind compensated by mentally pretending that it was not Angie whom I was screwing in the dark, innocuous conference room at my studio. No, my mind and my body reacted as if it were Bella who was straddling me on the chair, moving quickly to match my rhythm. I knew in a physical sense that it was not Bella, but the more I thought of Bella taking in my shaft, bouncing up and down on my lap, the more quickly the dragging pull started, and the more I could enjoy what I was doing.

I could hear her breathing hitch and her pussy walls constrict around me, causing the suction to pull downward. She shuddered as she came, her body becoming stiff and rigid in my arms. I thrust hard into her twice, in rapid succession before I spilled over, Cumming inside her with an intense orgasm that rocked both of us. I shuddered, and then reached down to remove myself from her.

"Edward," she said sleepily.

I half expected to hear Bella call my name, and was thoroughly disappointed when I realized I'd only fantasized it was her. I looked up for confirmation that Bella was only wishful thinking.

I was right.

Just wishful thinking.

I pushed Angie's naked body off my lap, and onto the floor.

"Happy? Now, get your shit, and get the fuck out of my studio. And don't come back here. You know the deal. Your place, not my business," I roared at her, standing and tucking my wet shaft back into my boxers and zipping my pants.

"But I thought—" she started.

"You _never_ think, Angie. And, _apparently_, you never listen either. You mean nothing to me; get the fuck out of my studio!" I roared again, walking over to the door, pulling it open, and then slamming it shut as I left her there, naked on the floor.

She was in my way. I wanted Isabella Swan more than _ever_, now. But I had to watch myself carefully. In fact, I didn't know how it would be possible to go after Bella, now. There were things that could bubble to the surface if she and I were seen together in public. And Angie, as promised, would dig those bones out of my closet.

I had to try to avoid my feelings for Bella. Try to remain indifferent to her beautiful face, and her amazing hands she created with.

_Try…_

**A/N:**

***Thanks to my Beta, xlavendermoonx! Check her work out.**

***Feedback is key for me. Review and I love you long time.**

**Disclaimer: The characters and such belong to SM. I own the plots, storyline, and editing of this story. You may not translate or copy or re-post, without my permission. ©HypnoticMemories (2010).**


	3. Caricature

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you guys for all the alerts, favs and reviews! There has been quite a few new readers! So, thank you!**

**Follow me on Twitter for updates and teasers: http:/www(dot)twitter(dot)com/eclipticaldust**

**Thank you for rec'ing the SHIT out of this!**

**Thanks to my amazing Beta, xLavenderMoonx (Susie)**

**To the wild world of strokes...**

**

* * *

**Covering my bases on sensitive issues:  
_**WARNING: PORTIONS OF THIS CHAPTER AND/OR STORY CONTAIN INSTANCES OF FLASHBACKS THAT CONTAIN THE SUGGESTED THEME OF NEAR SEXUAL ASSAULT. THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE YOUNGER THAN 16, OR WHO MAY BE TRIGGERED BY SUCH REFERENCES. YOU READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**_

* * *

CARICATURE

3

_**-(*)-**_  
You need to understand  
There's nothing strange about this  
You need to know your friends, you need to know that  
I'll be waving my hand watching you drown  
Watching you scream quiet or loud  
And maybe you should sleep  
And maybe you just need a friend  
As clumsy as you've been  
There's no one laughing  
You will be safe in here  
-(*)-

***B_E_L_L_A***

His wrist guided mine as the light green paint absorbed into the canvas, the strokes a light, thin line. His touch was soft as he finally lifted my hand from the opus and lightly took the brush from my hands, setting it on the easel.

"Now, I think you should work with oil paints, Bella," Edward said, reaching behind the easel to grab a jar of black oil paint. "It's thicker than what you're used to, so you only need a little."

He placed the jar of paint on the ledge of the easel, picked up the clean brush from one of the many holders that attached to the side of the easel, dipped the tip into the paint, and handed it to me.

"Do the same thing as the watercolors, only you're going to drag the tip across the surface instead of dabbing it," he said, taking my wrist again and pulling it back to the surface of the painting.

Each time he touched my wrist, I mentally cringed, but didn't give him any indication that his contact was making me a little uncomfortable. A part of me suspected that he'd seen the change in me, the depression I silently held inside myself, in my attitude, because he seemed to be less aware of me than he'd been last night. He was more professional-like in the way he guided my hand to the canvas, and even in the way he spoke to me. It was different; less intimate.

"The color is deeper," I said aloud, quickly comparing the two different paints.

He laughed slightly, then let go of my wrist, and let me direct the brush by myself. He stood back a few steps and crossed his arms, watching carefully as I dipped the paint back into the jar and repeated my earlier movements.

"Did you know they moved the art show from the art center to your father's gallery opening? I'm sure you heard already, though. A big change, but I guess we could use the room," Edward said. "Killing two birds with one stone, Charlie is."

"Really? I didn't know that until you just told me. The Art Center doesn't hold as many people anymore in its lobby, so that really isn't too big a shock."

"I concur," Edward replied. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Am I doing it okay?" I asked, turning around to get his answer.

When I turned, my hip hit the ledge of the easel, causing the black oily paint to spill from its jar as it fell from the ledge and cascaded a few feet from me. The paint splattered and leaked all over my shirt, jeans, and my white sneakers, leaving me looking a mess, and effectively near to tears.

He hurried forward as I bent down to pick the jar up, tears starting to sting the back of my eyes. He reached out and grasped my wrist, his eyes meeting mine.

"Bella, are you alright?" he asked with concern, picking up the paint jar and setting it beside him on the floor.

My eyes left his to travel down my clothing, ruined by the black that covered them. I brought my eyes level with his once more and could feel the tears start to fall from the corners of my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, standing up. "I'm _so_ sorry."

"Sorry for what? You spilled paint, it was an _accident_. Look at you," he said, reaching out to touch my knee, where the black paint was the thickest. "You're all covered in it."

I looked at him and then down to where his hand rested on my knee. The slight tremor in my body was felt as his fingertips curved into the paint, causing black to seep around the tips of his fingers.

"Please don't do that," I murmured, meeting his eyes and then squeezing mine tightly shut.

"Do what?" he asked, confused.

"Please don't touch me like that," I said, mentally counting to ten in my mind. He was very close to the place Mike had been when he tried to calm me that night.

I could feel his hand lift off my knee as my breathing tried to regulate back to normal. I could feel myself losing control, hyperventilating and tears falling from my face. The tears were more of embarrassment than from the contact Edward made.

"Sorry," he muttered.

I slowly opened my eyes and saw that Edward had stood up and walked to the sink. He placed the jar in it and reached over to grab a red cotton rag from the counter. He did not meet my eyes as he bent down to sop up the paint that was slowly cascading around the tile. I stood so that he could clean up what had seeped under my knees. I dripped black drops of paint all over the place as I stepped out of his way.

"I think I should go," I said, looking down at my clothes and sighing. "I think I did enough for tonight."

"Whoa," he said, getting to his feet and standing in front of me. "You can't be walking home like that. You look like shit. Literally, you look like a big fucking black turd splat on you."

"I have nothing on me, just my bag, and there isn't anything in there as far as clothing," I replied. "I'll be fine, Edward."

"You're not leaving my studio looking like that, Bella. I think Alice keeps some extra clothing in the back somewhere. You're about her size," he said, his eyes raking over my body. "Stay here."

I watched as he disappeared through the door. I walked to the sink and turned the tap on, shoving my dirty hands under the water and scrubbing as the sobs started to come again. How could I be so clumsy? And then to react the way I did when he touched my knee was an even more depressing situation all on its own. The way he answered me was filled with hurt and confusion. The worst part was I had no explanation to give him for my actions. I knew he would take it as I didn't want him in that way, but the fact was that wasn't true. For the first time in four years, I wanted to be close to a man. To feel his touch on me as I cried, and not cringe from him, or make him feel like a piece of shit, like I knew I had made Edward feel a moment ago. I didn't even know if Edward felt the same way toward me. Judging by tonight, I would guess that he didn't. At least, he didn't act the same as he had yesterday. What caused the change?

I heard him come back into the room behind me, so I composed myself as I turned the tap off and reached for a towel to dry my hands off. I turned to him, and he shoved some clothes at me.

"Alice won't miss them, she has enough shit in her closet, anyway," he said. "Uh, there is no bathroom down there that has much room, but there is one in my apartment you're welcome to use."

I looked at the pile of clothing in my hands; a pair of skinny jeans, and a gray cropped shirt. I swung my eyes back to Edward and nodded. He motioned for me to follow him. We walked out of the light of the studio, and into the dark hallway. The panic in my body was starting to erupt under my skin, suffocating me in the pain of that night, and the shadows that watched as Mike touched me; violated my trust. I automatically reached my right hand out and grabbed onto Edwards forearm. He stopped and turned to look at me.

"I…I can't see in the dark," I covered.

He turned and began walking toward the small, lit room off the end of the hall. I let go of his arm as he stopped in front of a door that led up to the second floor, flicked it open and moved aside.

"After you," he said, gesturing with his hand for me to go first.

I hesitated, and then turned to look at him. I bit my lip, and turned my eyes to the floor.

"What is it now, Isabella?" he asked impatiently, reaching out to tug my lip from my teeth. "And what did I tell you about that?"

My eyes swung to the darkness in the rooms beyond and then slipped back to his face, to his eyes. There was irritation in them, and coldness, now.

"It's dark," I murmured. "Could you turn the lights on?"

"Bella-"

"Come with me then," I blurted out. "Please."

He looked slightly mollified as he shrugged and started up the flight of stairs that led to his apartment. I reached up and held onto his shirt as he climbed the stairs. He flicked on the light switch on the wall, and the room in front of us lit up brightly in the fluorescence. The room was big, bright, and filled with Edward's sketching and portraits. My eyes scanned the artwork on the walls, while my hand slipped from his shirt.

"Let me go turn the other lights on," he said, leaving me in the room by myself.

I didn't feel quite as uncomfortable being alone with him. After all, our lessons were done after hours, alone. When he touched my knee, however, I lost all sense of who was touching me so intimately, who was kneeling in front of me trying to comfort me. To me, it was four years ago all over again.

I took the time to look at the sketches he had framed in wooden, black frames. Some were pictures of people that I did not recognize, but by the features of the face and the golden tone in their eyes, I guessed that they were of his parents. His mother was perfectly portrayed in the realism. Her light brown hair framed her face and made her eyes stand out. The portrait of his father was also life-like, but there was a stern sense of disapproval in his expression.

As I walked along the wall and gazed at the paintings, the one at the very end, the lone painting without a frame, stuck out to me. I had seen it before. The naked portrait of Angie Weber stood hanging on his wall, in a spot next to his parents. I examined her face closer and felt as if I had seen her before, but I couldn't quite place her.

"There. All the lights you need are on," Edward said, reappearing in the room. "Ignore the shower curtain…it was a present from Emmett, and well...you can't expect him to be intelligent enough for taste," he said.

I could see him watching me from the corner of my eye, so I turned to him and pointed to the painting.

"You hung it in your apartment?" I raised my eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, I guess I did," he shrugged, his eyes slipping to the painting I still pointed at.

"I thought you were going to enter this in that art show," I replied. "What changed your mind?"

"Well," he started, walking over to me and placing his chin in his hand, "I can't do it."

I turned sharply to look at him.

"Why? But all the best artists do it every year, Edward," I said indignantly.

"I don't mean it that way, Isabella," he whispered.

He turned to me, and in that brief moment, I saw the truth in his face; in his onyx eyes.

"Oh," I replied, my voice low and raspy.

"I don't want to go alone, and I don't think it's wise for you to accompany me as I requested before," he explained. "I think that these lessons are a mistake, and making it worse by expecting you come with me to an art show is just increasing the awkwardness."

"A mistake, huh?" I asked, picking the word out from his explanation.

He didn't reply, instead he looked down at me with an apology in his eyes. Rejection washed through me as my thoughts last night came back to me. He really didn't feel that way toward me.

"I think you should go change, you're dripping paint on the floor," he said, looking down at the black splotches that were still falling from my clothing.

"You're right, this was a mistake," I said, shoving the clothes back into his hands. "I should go."

I made to go around him, but he turned and caught my hand in his, letting the clothing fall next to him on the floor. My gaze moved to his fingers that were wrapped tightly around my own fingers, intertwined, and then I looked back to his eyes, which had gone the color of the paint dripping from my body.

"It's only a mistake because I want to _touch_ you, and that would be a very _bad_ thing, Isabella." His eyes were brighter, now. "I have to push aside these…_feelings_ for you, and I can't do that when I have to see your face," he said, leaning in close to me. "Not to mention you always dismiss me when I have physical contact with you. And that is very, _very _frustrating."

I remained silent as I looked from his bright eyes to the clothing on the floor. He let my wrist go, and I bent down to retrieve the clothes.

"Like you said, contact would be a very, _very_ bad thing," I replied, passing him and disappearing to the bathroom down the hall.

I quickly shut the bathroom door and turned to lock it. I leaned up against the door, threw the clothes onto the closed toilet lid, and closed my eyes. So he _did_ have feelings for me. But he had called it a mistake; something that he _wanted_, but couldn't _have_. But why? Besides my inability to let him touch me intimately, he could do as he pleased. I had _wanted_ him to kiss me yesterday, yet _he _was the one that had refrained.

I stepped away from the bathroom door and opened my eyes.

I reached down to kick off my paint-splattered shoes and then undid my jeans, pulling them down past my narrow hips and onto the floor, kicking them off lightly to the side. I slid my shirt off and cast that aside, as well. I reached over to the clothing and grabbed the shirt, which was on top of the pile, and put it on. The jeans were next, and I groaned at how tight they felt against my body.

"There's no room for my _ass_ to jiggle," I muttered to myself, feeling the material with my fingertips.

I grabbed my shoes off the floor, noticing that most of the paint had dried quickly since my shoes were made of canvas material. I opened the door, fully intent on leaving, with or without his permission. I would have, too, if his body was not blocking the bathroom doorway, his hands on either side of the doorjamb.

"Edward…what-?"

"The good thing about bad things is they make you want them even _more_," he replied, moving his hand from the door jam and tipping my face up to look into his eyes. "And you, Isabella, are something I _desperately_, _completely _want."

His lips crashed down on mine as my hands, despite all my reservations and uneasiness, dropped the shoes onto the floor behind him and slid around his neck. I pulled myself to him in hungry pressure.

"Edward," I managed to grind out between our pressed lips.

I saw his other hand out of the corner of my eye come off the door jam and latch onto my waist, pressing me even further into his body, so that I could feel his hardness against my belly.

"Edward," I said louder while trying to catch my breath and disengage my lips.

He continued to kiss me with authority, as I lowered my hands from his neck to push on his chest.

"_EDWARD, GET OFF ME_!" I roared at him, reaching down to drag his hand off my waist.

He abruptly pulled away from me, looking at me with a mix of horror and confusion. He brought his hand up to wipe his wet lips, as I started to weep.

"Please _don't_," I begged him through the sobs as he opened his mouth to speak. "_Please don't touch me_."

"I won't do anything you don't want me to," he told me, backing away from me. "Bella, I won't touch you." He put his hands up shoulder high in surrender.

I reached down to pick up my shoes from the floor, tears still falling, and pushed past him. I headed toward the door leading down to his studio and to the exit.

"Please, Bella!" he called after me, "Let me take you home! I _promise_ not to touch you. Fuck, I won't utter a _word_, if you don't want me to!"

I didn't stop to answer him. Instead, I flew down the stairs, ran through the studio, and into the night's cool air, barefoot. As I ran down the block, the wind whipped across my tight clothing. I could hear Edward from his studio doors calling to me.

"Bella! Wait! What did I _do_?"

_You did nothing, Edward. Nobody wants damaged goods…._

The patter of my bare feet as I ran was the only noise I could hear against the world, now. The sounds of cars, traffic, and people on the street were all drowned out. It was like a silent movie as I fled. His hand had touched my waist, a boundary that I held onto, and that boundary was broken so quickly that there'd been no time to differentiate who was doing it. In that small instant, there was no difference between Mike and Edward. The flash of memory had been a pair of hands greedily on my waist, and that was enough.

No…I am _damaged_.

I am…_blemished_.

I am…_broken_.

I am… _a half-finished painting put on display_.

Edward wanted to finish me, but the ghosts and echoes of four years had broken me down.

And pulled me inside out…

* * *

***E_D_W_A_R_D***

_-(*)-_  
You need to understand  
There's nothing fake about this  
You need to let me in, I'm watching you, and  
I'll be waving my hand watching you drown  
Watching you scream, no one's around  
And maybe you should sleep  
And maybe you just need a friend  
As clumsy as you've been  
There's no one laughing  
You will be safe in here  
You will be safe in

-(*)-

Emmett rolled around on the couch in laughter for the third time.

"It isn't that funny, Em, you retard," I spat at him, looking away from the ridiculousness of his reaction.

"Oh, man," Emmett replied, trying to stop his giggles long enough to speak, "it really is. The chick up and took off after you kissed her? Dude, your breath must have been rank," he said, his laughing starting anew.

"Remind me again why you're here?" I retorted, rolling my eyes.

We were sitting in the studio the next morning, a small break in between Tanya's portrait unveiling and the old lady and her cat that was due up in ten minutes. I sat on the stool generally reserved for my subjects, my hands curving under the stool.

"Hey,' he stopped laughing and sat up straight on the couch, "you're the one who left her clothes on your bathroom floor! I go to take a long, relieving piss, and I look down and see girl pants and I get all excited, thinking you must have taken them off of her. You disappoint me, bro."

"Again, with your magical-thinking cock, Emmett," I said bitterly. "It wasn't my breath that made her run."

"Then what did? Did you say something fucked up to her or something?"

"I have no fucking idea. I just kissed her, and she freaked the fuck out on me. Not to mention she made me go turn on all the lights in the apartment before she went any further than the living room," I sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose.

"The chick sounds like a virgin to me," Emmett shrugged, looking at me with a smirk. "Cherry goes pop."

"Fuck off," I retorted. "She's not…" I trailed off, thinking over the possibility that she just might be, in fact, a virgin.

This could easily explain her reluctance with the contact I made with her, and the fact she wanted all the lights on. Perhaps, Emmett wasn't as stupid as I had always thought.

"You think?" I asked, leaning forward on the stool.

"Man, either that, or the girl is fucking nuts. Seeing as she seemed mentally stable on the dance floor, I'd say her cherry pie is still intact and ready to bake," he replied while getting up and stretching.

"You aren't as stupid as I once thought," I complimented, smiling widely while bending over to nail my fist into his nuts.

"Fuck you. That was a cheap shot! Don't you have an old woman's puss to draw or something?" he squeaked out, doubled over holding his crotch. "I'm out of here. That's not my kind of thing."

I groaned as I watched Emmett walk out of the room. I could hear the old lady in the reception area, her cat meowing as she spoke.

_Could that be the reason for last night? _I thought to myself, getting off the stool, and bringing the easel forward. Was Bella Swan really still a virgin? She was very attractive, obviously. Perhaps she was one of those 'promise ring' type people; the kind who wait for marriage before having sexual relationships.

_Please, God…don't let that be it._ I prayed silently

Maybe she was just so busy, that she had no time for men? Maybe she wasn't even interested in men?

"Oh, my God! Please don't be into flannel and Birkenstock*, either…" I said aloud, as the thought floated through my mind.

"Who's the lesbian?" I heard from behind me.

I turned to see the old lady and her tabby cat standing in the doorway, Alice behind them, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

"Nobody, Mrs. Whitlock," I said, as Alice shoved the old woman into the room and gave me a what-the-fuck look, then turning and leaving me to my work. "Have a seat."

I set to work sketching the old lady and her cat, Cupcake. That cat was one fucking evil cupcake, as it clawed and scratched at my stool, meowing as I posed it on Mrs. Whitlock's lap. That pussy was hard to tame. I was halfway finished outlining Mrs. Whitlock's back hump when the old lady spoke.

"You going to answer that, boy?" she said, petting the squirming, meowing cat in her arms.

"Answer what?" I asked, confused.

"The ringing phone. Boy, I am nearly _eighty_ and almost _deaf,_ and I can hear that," she snapped.

"Old bat," I muttered, hearing the slight ringing now that the cat stopped meowing.

"What?"

"I bet," I lied, looking down at the floor near the easel and seeing a silver bag. I could see the splotches of black on the surface, and realized that Bella must have left her bag behind in my studio. I reached my hand into the bag and plucked her small, ringing cell phone from it, flipping it open.

_**New Text!**_

I hit "OK", and the phone stopped ringing and brought up the message.

_**Bells, where R U? trd 2 call U all day…Rose**_

I exited that message and went into her menu, then to her missed calls. There were seven total calls from Rose, all concerned about Bella's whereabouts. I suddenly flashed back to last night, and how she had left the studio alone, without shoes on her feet. Worry started to build in my chest about whether or not she had gotten home fine.

I turned to Mrs. Whitlock and her evil cupcake, and told her that the session was over.

"Is it finished?" she questioned. "Cupcake will _love_ it!" she said, squeezing the cat tightly in a hug.

"That cat doesn't love _anything,_" I told her. "Look, we will continue next week, okay? Go to Alice and she will schedule you in," I explained.

I bent down and threw the cell phone back into the bag, picked it up and left the studio. I walked past Alice, through the glass doors and into the cool, rainy Washington air. I built a worried pace as I walked down the street, toward Bella's apartment.

"Nice purse," someone shouted. I didn't even turn around to flip them off. Instead, I continued to walk past Jake's and down the block. This Rose was obviously worried about her, and it seemed that it was highly unusual for Bella to ignore her calls. Maybe I would get the chance to smooth things over with her, or even just to see if she was alright, and give her the bag back.

I stopped in front of _De Caso_, and looked up at the window I thought was attached to her apartment. The blinds were pulled down over the window. I turned and walked into the alley leading to her apartment door. I approached her door and knocked loudly, once. Nobody answered, so I rang the small bell that was mounted on the wall beside the door. When nobody answered, I reached my hand back into her bag and extracted her cell phone again; I flipped it open and dialed Bella's home number, which I knew by heart now.

I waited for her to answer, but her answering machine came on, so I hung up and pressed redial. Again, she didn't answer. I hung up the second time and was going to redial again, when a figure in the all glass door nearly scared the shit out of me.

"Bella?" I asked, clutching my chest.

Bella stood in the doorway, her arms folded, and her expression was full of tiredness, and sadness. Her eyes were red, as though she had been crying, and her face was puffy and pale. She still wore the same clothing she had on as she had run from my studio, only they were now splattered with paint, too, and she looked as if she needed sleep badly.

"Bella?" I repeated when she made no movement. "You left your bag at the studio." I held it up for her to see.

She leaned her hand onto the knob and turned it, opening it to face me without the glass impeding us. She reached her hand out for the purse. I looked down at the purse, then to her face.

"You'll get it when you let me talk to you," I said, placing her purse behind me, stepping forward. "I will just stand right inside, and I won't touch you unless you tell me to," I promised.

She hesitated, but said nothing as she let me pass to stand inside the doorway. She kept the door opened, and eventually, her eyes found mine. They looked troubled.

"I want to apologize for last night. I don't know what happened, but whatever it is, I completely apologize," I said, looking at her with intensity. "If you don't want to be around me anymore, I will understand."

Her eyes held mine for a second, and then she whispered, "No."

"No?"

"It was my fault. You took me by surprise. You can't just _grab_ me like that," she said, looking down at the floor. "You probably think I'm a nut job because of what happened."

I debated lifting her chin, so I could see her lovely brown eyes, but decided against having any contact with her right now. Instead, I took her purse and dangled it between us. She reached out and took it, then leveled her gaze with mine.

"There are three things wrong with your theories, Bella. One, you are _not_ Emmett, so you are _not_ a nut job. Second, I will never touch you unless you tell me to, and I won't let last night happen again. And, three, it wasn't your fault, Bella. If you're attracted to me, and I am to you, that's nobody's fault, okay?" I said, watching as she bit her lip.

"Oh, come on. That's not fair. I can't touch you, and you go and bite that fucking lip. Sexy? Fuck yeah, it is, but it's a bad habit."

She cracked a slight smile and looked away, letting her lip free.

It was silent for a few beats.

"I want you to come with me Friday, Bella. I tried to stay away from you, and it didn't work out. But, if you don't want to go with me, I'll take the rejection," I said as she shifted from foot to foot. "No touching, if that's what you want."

"Can we try something?" she asked timidly, setting her purse on the floor.

"Yeah, okay," I answered, watching her face change expression. "What?"

"I want to guide your hands," she said, stepping closer. "Let me let you touch me."

"Uh…yeah," I said, a bit confused at what she meant.

She slowly, and purposely, reached for my right hand, closing her eyes tightly. She slowly guided my hand to her waist, her breathing speeding up, and her eyes scrunching shut.

"Bella…" I protested.

"Shhhh," she whispered.

She brought my hand to her waist and lightly let my fingers curve around the skin there. Her breath caught in her throat as she slowly opened her eyes.

"I'm going to let my hand go," she explained. "Don't move any closer to me until I say so."

I stood stock still, my hand resting on her waist. My eyes drifted to her face, which was pale and clouded with anxiety. She took a deep breath, and then closed her eyes again.

"Move your hand further down, near my hip," she commanded.

I looked at her closed eyes but did as she asked, tracing my fingers and palm downward, toward the curve of her hip. I was certainly enjoying the feel of her warm body under my fingers, but apparently, she didn't feel the same. Her eyes shot open and her hand, for the second time in one day, pried my hand loose from her body as she backed away some.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I just can't. I tried."

"You tried," I agreed. "Work in progress, Bella. Lots of girls go through this the first time. It's natural," I told her.

Did girls really have anxiety when they were virgins? Was there some kind of problem with her that she feared losing her virginity? I had no idea. But what I did know was that I would wait for however long it took for her to get over this, to let me touch her the way I wanted. Fuck the petty contact we had, I wanted to feel her warm body against mine. And in order for that to happen, we had to make progress on this no-touching-intimately shit.

She looked really fucking confused at my last statement, but nodded her head anyway.

"I still would like it, Bella, if you could come with me to the art show Friday," I told her. "Compensation for the lessons?"

"Lessons? I thought you said they were a _mistake_?" she replied.

"I also said that it was only a mistake because I want to touch you so badly, and I still _do_," I told her, moving a few steps closer. "How about it?"

She smiled slightly, letting her white teeth show. She shrugged. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good. By then you may be celebrating, as well. It could be a dual celebration," I told her. "Finals will be over, and you won't have to stress about it anymore. That is why you look like shit, right? I mean, besides last night?"

She said nothing, but nodded half-halfheartedly. "Are you going to enter that picture, still?"

The question caught me off guard, but I answered her nonetheless.

"No, I've got one I've been working on. Angie will be happy _that_ painting isn't getting out," I said darkly, remembering her hands reaching into my boxers, looking up at me from under her long lashes. I shuddered. "Me, too," I added.

"So, lessons tonight, then?"

"Tonight. Thanks for bringing my bag back," she said. "I left in such a hurry…"

"You're welcome, Bella. But the bag was the second reason I came. The first was to check on you. Rose was really worried about you. Your phone was ringing," I said, adding the last part as she raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, Rose! God, she must be _frantic_ by now! She usually stops by, but she must be in traffic or still at work," she explained, an expression of pain flickering across her face.

I said nothing, but glanced down at my watch. I had another appointment in ten minutes, and I had to get moving to get back on time. Bella seemed to notice this.

"You should go. Thanks again for coming all the way here to return the bag...and your…_welfare_ visit?" she laughed as I looked up from my watch to her. "I'm sorry about last night, too. I wish I could explain…"

"Bella, its fine, I understand." My face was a flicker of torn proprieties as I walked to the door, her behind me.

"_Fuck_, Bella," I said, turning around to stare into her wide, deep, brown eyes. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Can I touch your chin?"

"Yes."

I lifted my hand under her chin and tilted her head. My head tilted slightly to hers, where I stopped inches short of her lips.

"Can I kiss you? I promise not to touch you anywhere else." My voice was husky and brimming with desire.

"Mm-hm," she murmured, closing her eyes with my face near hers.

I slowly pressed my lips into her soft, warm flesh, lightly parting them and shaping them to my own. I felt her hand come up and press against the side of my neck, her tiny frame pressing slightly against me, the purse in her hand hitting my leg with timed thumps as she murmured against my lips. As promised, my hand to her chin was the only contact I made with her.

I pulled my lips reluctantly from hers and smiled. Her eyes were still shut and her breathing, again, was very fast. The smile fell from my face in panicked confusion.

"Bella?"

"Shhh," she replied. "I'm trying to absorb the taste," she said, opening one eye and smiling.

"Good. 'Cause if you're hyperventilating and you pass out, you are shit out of luck with your _no-touching_ policy," I joked, relieved that she enjoyed it. "Glad my spit made you happy. Goodbye, for now, Isabella."

"Goodbye, Edward. See you soon," she replied, opening both eyes and licking her lips. "Soon."

I walked out of the alley a little happier, and less worried, than when I'd walked in. She had enjoyed the kiss, and I enjoyed-no, I fucking loved—kissing her. She was warm, and her little body pressed up against mine gave me afternoon wood. I would have to go whack one out before my next appointment to avoid it standing at attention during the painting of another Mrs. Whitlock, who would point and laugh at the crotch of my pants sticking out the size of lady liberty while I tried to draw the age spots on their skin.

I walked back to the studio, smiling the whole way. I bounced into the glass doors, where Alice met me.

"Where have you _been_?" Alice demanded.

"Why? I still have," I checked my watch, "three minutes until my next work-in."

"There is a call on line one, Edward. I really think you should go answer it," she said, rolling her eyes and walking out of sight into the back area.

I walked over to the reception desk, picked up the phone, and immediately wished I hadn't.

"Mike? Mike Newton? Yeah, I remember you," I answered, _but I don't like you._

I listened to him on the other end for what seemed like forever, tapping my fingers on the desk. Eventually, I had to cut in.

"So what are you asking here, Mike? I have clients," I said. "Sometime before my hair gets gray. A job? I don't know, Mike…" I said, wanting to say no, but knowing that times were hard nowadays for people. "Alright, fine. Come in tomorrow and we will figure something out," I told him, finally getting him off the line.

_Toilet boy. He will be wiping shit off the toilet seats._

I hated Mike, even back when he was in art school with me. He was a creepy guy then, and he once worked for Bella's father running around to the different galleries and getting it ready for the events by doing place settings and getting the podiums ready. Everyone deserves a chance, I supposed.

"What did he want?" Alice asked, coming back into the room with two coffees. "He was insistent. I told him to piss off, but he said he'd hold," she said, handing me a coffee cup.

"A job," I told her.

She nearly spit out the coffee she was sipping. "Is he _serious_? You said no, right?"

"I told him to come in tomorrow, and I'd figure something out. Thanks for the coffee, this should make him start his job fairly soon. Make sure there's no toilet paper in the bathroom, Alice. We are going to make him _work_, yes we are!" I said, making Alice laugh as I walked into my studio.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" The person on the stool spat bitterly. "How _was _she? How does she _taste_?"

"_Fuck!"_

My coffee dropped to the floor, and the smirk on her face was front, line and center as I scanned the person on the stool.

"What did I tell you, Angie?" I said angrily. "Not at my _business_!"

"The flavor of the week _is _my business!" she said, pulling out her cell phone and flipping it open. She shoved it in my face.

On her phone, was a picture of me kissing Bella Swan this afternoon, Bella's hand on my neck.

* * *

*Birkenstock- Slip-on shoes that resemble slippers, often referred to as 'hush-puppies'. They are very well known for being worn by homosexual females. Ellen Degeneres is famous for wearing them.

**Recommendation: **

**xLavenderMoonx's amazing story about secrets, lies and a mysterious Edward Cullen, who just happens to own a remote island...oh, the wicked fun her Edward is... ;)**

**http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/6380184/1/End_Island**


	4. Deceiver and Deliverance

**A/N: **

***Follow me on Twitter at: ****http:/www(dot)twitter(dot)com/eclipticaldust**

***Thanks for the favs, saves and recs! You guys are so fuckawesome! One line sneak peek of chapter 5 at the bottom...see you there!  
**

**

* * *

**

Covering my bases on sensitive issues:

_**WARNING: PORTIONS OF THIS CHAPTER AND/OR STORY CONTAIN INSTANCES OF FLASHBACKS THAT CONTAIN THE SUGGESTED THEME OF NEAR SEXUAL ASSAULT. THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE YOUNGER THAN 16, OR WHO MAY BE TRIGGERED BY SUCH REFERENCES. YOU READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**_

_**

* * *

**_

DECEIVER AND DELIVERANCE

4

*E_D_W_A_R_D*

-(*)-

"What the _fuck _are you spying on me for? There are at least a dozen laws you broke playing detective, Angie," I yelled, cursing as I bent to pick the coffee cup off the floor. "Fucking hell! You can't _be_ here, I have a client."

"You were supposed to come to my place on your break, and you were mouth fucking _her_, instead!" Angela yelled loudly. "So, tell me, how the _fuck _did she taste?" she spat, flipping the cell phone shut and hopping off the stool.

"Did you go to the doctor yet?"

"For what?"

"For your fucking _incessant_ verbal diarrhea? This is my studio and place of work, so you are going to stop that shouting and listen to me. And listen very, _very_ carefully, because I have this feeling you're deaf," I told her, standing and reaching for the towel next to the sink to sop up the coffee she'd made me spill.

"Edward-" she started.

"You are going to stop this shit. I said just a few days ago, that you are nothing to me but someone to stick my dick in and that is it. The only reason you are getting any of this…" I said as I pointed to my crotch (which upon seeing Angie, had gone limp), "…is because you are blackmailing me. You want to ruin my reputation that bad? Go on, because this ends now," I said with finality.

"Edward, you _don't_ really _want_ to do this," she said, stepping toward me, her lashes batting and her hips shimmying as she walked.

"I mean it, Angie. I don't care anymore what you do. Tell people, I don't care. What makes you think they will believe you, anyway? Everyone knows the only reason you got on the Art board was because you're good at sucking people off. Just ask Eric Yorkie, the then-president who hired you."

"What about Friday? I always go to the art show with you every year!"

"Guess what? This year you can go by yourself, or not at all. I personally don't care, because it won't be with me," I hurled at her, just wanting her out of my studio.

Her face contorted into rage as she stopped walking toward me, and, instead, balled her fists against her sides. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she got the chance, Alice popped into the studio.

"Edward, your three is here. Should I send him in?" she asked, noting Angie's face and my expression. "Want me to tell him to wait?"

"No, it's fine, Alice," I said, my intense gaze not breaking from Angie. "We are done here."

Angie seemed to get the hint, looking from me to Alice, and the back to me. She walked toward me, her pace slow. She stopped an inch from my ear and whispered so that only I could hear her.

"There are _other _ways, Edward. You will be back," she said, walking past me and Alice and slamming the studio door shut as she exited. Alice and I looked at the door for a moment before speaking.

"Shit, Edward. Is she _PMSing_ or something?" Alice asked, rolling her eyes when I laughed bitterly.

"I told her 'suffering from verbal diarrhea,' but close enough."

"Good one," Alice complimented. "Though, the shit that comes out of her mouth is far worse . . . _concentrated evil."_

"Give me ten minutes, Al. I need to replace the canvas and brush," I said.

Alice nodded, and then left me alone to get ready for my next appointment, which also left me alone with my own thoughts. Angie would see to it that I knew it was a mistake to get rid of her—_to be rid of her_—and there was no doubt that she would dig up something or make something up if she had to. The fact that she had followed me, and then spied on me with Bella, went to show just how much of a fucking whack job she was.

I set the easel up, grabbed a clean brush, brought the stool close to the easel and sat down. I could still, in the darkest recesses of my mind, firmly remember what happened that night. And how Angie had come to be a pain in my ass, and most recently, my dick. I tried so hard to hide from her how disgusted I felt about what I had done, but she knew I still felt that way, and she played on that; enticed me into having sex with her from the guilt and resentment I had about that night.

"_This doesn't happen often," Charlie Swan said. "Not right out of art school."_

"_Well, I had a lot of luck," I replied, watching as people started to assemble around the podium in the front of the gallery. "And you are putting it in your gallery, too."_

_Charlie laughed and nodded his head. "Yes, that too."_

_We stood around the painting in the small, incomplete gallery. The gallery, Del Caso, still in the midst of being finished, but it already had people coming out in droves to see the many portraits; realism and charcoal sketching that Mr. Swan deemed marketable material._

"_She's really pretty in color conte, Edward. Naked symmetry is so hard to come by," he praised, admiring the painting with renewed interest. "Is she your partner?"_

"_Angie? Oh, no. She's just someone who posed for me, that's all," I told him._

_It was the truth. Angela Weber was just an art model from my many art classes. I had seen her beauty amongst the skin and bones, and had asked her, at first, to pose for me fully clothed. It was her wish that it be done in the nude. I felt that Angie wanted more than friendship from me when she first learned that Charlie Swan had asked me to do a piece for his new gallery. It was my impression that her infatuation with me was just her meager attempt to taste success in the art business, seeing as she never finished art school, dropping out and casting herself as an art model. We had had sex one time, when I had completed the portrait of many months, and she and I were both under the influence of wine._

"_Really?" A voice said from behind me._

"_Angie," I said, turning to her and smiling. "We were just talking about you."_

_Angie stood dressed in an off-white dress, the flimsy straps accentuating her thin, beautiful frame. Her smile was thin, and her expression was one of hurt._

"_I know," she murmured, disappointment filling her voice like syrup._

"_You are an amazing work of art, Ms. Weber, true beauty captured in canvas," Charlie told her before shaking my hand again and walking away._

_When he was out of sight, she quickly turned to me and frowned._

"_Why are you telling people we aren't together, Edward?" she asked. "We slept together and…"_

"_That was a mistake, Angie. I'm not discussing this with your right now. I have an award to accept," I said bluntly._

_She said nothing, but her face remained stony and distant. Finally, when the podium was all set up, and the ceremony was about to begin, she excused herself to go to the bathroom, leaving me alone with the index cards in my pocket, and the words already memorized in my brain of what I wanted to say to the crowd of 100 people._

"_Ladies and gentlemen," Charlie started, "tonight is a really special night for Del Caso. Not only do we have some amazing, talented artists, but tonight, we will be recognizing one artist for his achievements in defining arts. Before we get to him…" _

_I drowned the rest of his speech out, trying to mentally go over what all I needed to say and who I needed to thank. This award was prestigious; one of the rarest awards given to artists my age. With the award would come many, many opportunities to make a bigger impact in the art world, and possibly a chance to open my own gallery._

_A whisper in my ear made me lose concentration, but not because she had snuck up on me. It was what she whispered._

_I turned around to face whom the voice belonged to. I tried to speak, but I was frozen to the spot, the words frozen in my mind, unable to form enough to be spoken._

"Edward! Goddamn it! _Edward_?" Alice's voice broke through the memory like a knife.

I looked up from the stool to see her standing with Mr. Stanley, who looked utterly inconvenienced.

"Oh. Mr. Stanley. Come on in," I said, trying to shake the lingering thoughts from my head. "Drifted off."

"Dirty thoughts will do that to you," he snickered.

"I wish I could wash these, but no. Actually, do you mind if we reschedule? Alice can pen you in for Friday morning?" I asked, not really up to painting at the moment.

"Er, okay, I guess that's fine," Mr. Stanley said.

"Good. Alice? See that he gets penned in for Friday morning," I said, turning back to push the easel against the table behind it.

Once Alice disappeared with him, I bent over and released the burlap cover off the unfinished canvas that lay upon the table. I reached my fingertips out to touch the painted image of the red, full lips, cascaded them down to the fair chin, and then circled them up the cheek and into the chestnut brown hair floating against the paleness of her skin. The deep chocolate eyes seemed to watch me as I stroked the paint at the top of her head.

_This_ was the painting for Friday's art show.

It had taken all I had as I had closed my eyes in those hours after she'd left, following our two lessons. I remembered her features, first sketching, and then painting her. The swell of her lips, the depth of her eyes . . . Bella was my _Mona Lisa._ The prettiest girl I had ever seen and her beauty had resonated into my brush strokes, making it the most amazing work of art I had ever created.

It was turning into a very fast piece, but when I thought of her, nothing went slow. I reached out and touched her painted lips, remembering what it was like to kiss her earlier this afternoon, feeling her hand on my neck and her body against mine, even if it was only lightly. The portrait was supposed to be for her to give to her mother in Florida, but there was no way I could let this get out of my sight. It was turning out to be the most gorgeous work of art ever created with my own two hands. I secretly wished, although it would never come true, that I could draw her naked, to see the beauty of her body in natural state.

I took my fingers off the painting and placed it on the easel to continue painting the specimen of beauty. Friday, I would unveil the finished piece to the art world. Bella would see it, and _her_ reaction was the one I would wait a lifetime to see. Her father, Charlie, would probably be glad she wasn't naked (like I wanted), and praise it in the same manner as the other pieces I had shown off, maybe even more so since it was his own daughter.

I was falling hard and fast for Isabella Swan. Something drew me to her like a magnet, making the rest of the world break apart when I saw her face. She made me forget the memories that where inside me; inside my ugliness and my deceiving mind. I felt connected to her on more than one level. She was like the other half of me. It didn't matter that I couldn't touch her in certain ways—_yet_. But we could work on that, little-by-little.

I reached over and tapped the radio on as I opened my oils. As a _Nathan Angelo_ song belted from the small, old radio, I dipped my brush into the paint, and continued the masterpiece that had not only captured my muse, but also my heart.

"How fitting," I murmured as I listened to the lyrics of the song, swiping my brush across the canvas lightly. "Someday, soon."

***B_E_L_L_A***

**-(*)-**

"Rose, I really have to go. I have to be there at six," I said into the phone, twirling the cord around my fingers.

I had spent the last hour on the phone, apologizing and convincing Rose that I was alright. She had wanted to come over, but I politely told her that it wasn't necessary. After promising her that I would call her when I got home, no matter how late, she agreed not to come over.

"Rose…" I trailed off as she scolded me over the phone for the umpteenth time. "He brought my bag back which had the cell phone in it. Don't you think, logically, if I _had_ my cell phone, I _would _have answered?"

I listened to her for another few minutes, and then repeated myself again.

"Rose, I have to go now if I am going to make it there on time."

After finally getting her off the phone, I grabbed my bag and rushed out the door, set the number pad, and jogged to my car. It was raining, which deterred me from walking there, which would, in essence, be quicker.

I arrived at Luck of the Draw a few minutes later, knocking on the double doors in the pouring rain. After a moment with no answer, I knocked again.

"Edward?" I called out, peering through the panes and into the lobby.

It was dark, and I didn't see anybody inside as my eyes scanned around. I was going to knock again when I decided that I would try the doors. Perhaps, by some kind of luck, they would still be open, and I would be able to call to him more loudly than through the glass. I tugged on the brass knobs, and, to my astonishment, they opened easily. I opened them further and slipped inside, looking around for a sign of anyone. I could hear the sound of what I supposed was talking coming from the back area, where Edward's studio was. It was very dark through the small reception area, and I could feel the pit of my stomach contract as the shadows in front of me seemed to thicken.

"Edward?" I called out again.

There was still no answer.

"Shit," I muttered.

I felt against the wall on my right-hand side, and found the small light switch. I flicked it on, and to my relief, the overhead lights flickered, and then illuminated, bathing the reception area in light. I walked through the small room and up to Edward's studio door, which was closed, but I could see light from under the door, and now that I was closer, I could hear the sound of someone singing along with a radio. I lifted my hand to knock, but decided against it. Instead, I opened the door slightly and peered inside.

My eyes could see the easel, which was facing away from me, and I could hear the music coming from a small radio that sat on the table near the door. Edward, who seemed to be immersed in painting, swayed slightly from side to side in tune with the music. I walked all the way inside and shut the door behind me.

"Bella?" Edward called out; stopping his swaying while grabbing the burlap cover off the table behind the easel. As he hastily covered the painting, he poked his head around the easel and smiled at me in embarrassment. "Sorry, I lost track of time," he said, glancing at his watch.

"I'm sorry, the doors were all open," I explained, watching as he walked to the sink and placed the oily brush inside.

"No, no. its fine," he said, turning to me now. "Could you turn the radio off beside you, please?"

I shrugged, but turned and tapped the button on the radio, cutting off the crooning mid-song. I turned back to Edward, who was removing the canvas from the easel, and setting a new one in its place.

"You said you don't dance," I reminded him as I set my bag on the table next to the radio and walked forward. "You lied."

"Actually," he said, turning to smile at me, "what I said was I _can't_ dance. And, you can hardly call that dancing. It was more like bouncing on my feet," he finished. He pulled a brush from the holder and handed it to me. "Lesson three."

"I've seen worse dancers. Once, Rose almost put her ex-boyfriend in a cast after stepping all over his toes. He was an asshole, so I didn't feel too bad," I told him, taking the brush from him and smiling. "Plus, there is dancing at the art show. You don't want to disappoint me, do you?"

"I try to avoid the dancing . . . I make a point to leave before I embarrass myself." He hesitated. "Would you really be disappointed if I didn't dance with you, Isabella?"

He took my wrist (I groaned internally and counted to ten) and guided the brush into the pot of red paint, and then tapped it lightly on the rim of the paint jar, moving the brush, and my hand, to the canvas.

"Light strokes, as before, thin the paint out for softness," he said, lightly moving my wrist in the direction he wanted me to go.

"I think . . . I think that I wouldn't necessarily feel _disappointed_, but I would feel strange not to, when everyone else is," I explained, looking at him from the corner of my eye.

"Not to bring on the ire here," he replied, letting my hand go as he turned to me and I turned to him. "But, you have this issue about-personal space-and dancing requires _touching_ you around your waist," he said, taking the brush from my hand. "Dilemma."

I laughed and shook my head.

"What?" he asked, handing me a clean brush. "Mix your colors to get a realistic look to your painting."

"You can't dance, and I have a problem with being touched. Seems like we are at a stalemate," I said, as I dipped the brush into the white and mixed it with the red myself, then lifted it back to the canvas. "But we could try, right?"

He was silent a moment, watching as I swirled the brush across the canvas, the paint absorbing and thinning out.

"Yes, we could. After all, progress was made this afternoon, I think," he said, reaching out and removing the brush from my hand and setting it on the easel. "You have this coloring problem settled, so how about we work on it some more now?" He smiled.

"The _you-not-able-to-dance_ thing or the _I-am-hopelessly-untouchable_ thing?" I replied, turning as his hand reached up to touch my chin.

"You are not untouchable, Isabella. At least you _won't_ be," he said seriously, looking into my eyes. "I have a feeling about that."

"Edward," I whispered, as his hand traveled slowly up my arm.

"Shhh . . . I know your rules, Isabella. I haven't forgotten," he said, bringing his hand back down to rest on my forearm.

"No. Not that. You have been giving me lessons to help with my finals, so maybe_ I_ could give _you_ lessons?" I suggested while placing my free hand in my jeans pocket.

"Lessons? What kind of lessons?" he asked, his face nearing mine. "I have no problem if you want to touch me, Isabella," he joked.

I blushed slightly."I mean dancing lessons. You have two left feet, self-admittedly, so maybe I can show you a few moves," I said, feeling the heat surface at my cheeks.

"You want to teach me to dance?" he asked, pulling back to look at my face. "Really?"

"Well, if you want-"

"Of course I want you to, it's just . . . I can't . . . dancing requires . . . I'd have to fucking _touch _you, Isabella. I don't want what happened last night to happen again, you understand?" he said, leveling his eyes with mine.

He was right, and I knew it. Teaching him to dance would require me to let me touch my waist and hips. I freaked the fuck out on him once, what was to say this would be any different?

"Could we just try? I'm willing to try if you are," I said quietly. I watched his torn face look away for a moment, and then find its way back to mine.

"Alright. Progress means practice, I guess," he said, dropping his hand from my chin.

I pulled his hand from my forearm and walked across the studio to my bag on the table. I reached inside and fumbled around with some stuff until I pulled out the compact disc that was stuffed into the bottom of the bag.

"What are you doing?" Edward asked, watching as I opened the CD case and popped the radio's CD compartment open.

"Rose works for a recording company, and she brought this demo home for me," I explained, pressing play on the machine and walking back over to Edward. "It's music that makes you feel."

The song started, and I stepped forward and took a long breath. Edward looked apprehensive as he stood there waiting for me to tell him what to do. I moved closer to him, so that we were inches apart.

"Edward, I'm going to place my hands around your neck. When I do, place your hands slowly on my waist," I instructed him.

"Okay."

I reached out my arms and hooked them around his neck, my face inches from his own. His hands automatically went up to touch my waist, but fell back to his sides when he heard my rapid breathing hitch.

"Sorry. Instinctual," he explained.

He slowly lifted his hands up. "I'm going to touch your waist now, Isabella," he warned.

I felt his warm hands on either side of my waist. My breathing became almost hypertensive, and I could feel him start to pull his hands away.

"No. It's fine. Just give me a second," I said, looking into his eyes to let him know I was alright.

_He is not Mike…He is not Mike…He is not Mike…He is not Mike…_

I repeated that a few times in my head, and I could feel my muscles relax a bit as I closed the gap and pressed myself firmly against him.

"Bella," he said. "Are you sure you're comfortable with this?"

"Take your right hand, and place it flat on the small of my back," I told him, feeling my stomach twist at the thought of his hand being so close to my ass.

I felt his right hand slide down and around to my back, and rest there.

"Okay, hurdle done," I said, repeating the same statement I'd repeated earlier in my head to relax myself. I backed up a few inches, to which he groaned in distaste.

"Spacing, Edward. You don't want to go stepping on my dress or my toes, do you?" I smiled slightly at him. "Alright," I started, bringing my hand down from his neck and holding it out to the side.

"Bella, are you alright?" Edward asked, taking my gesture totally wrong.

"Edward, if I wasn't at least ten percent alright, I think you would know it," I told him bluntly. "Take your left hand and bring it to mine, but don't intertwine your fingers. You want it more like interlocking C's," I told him, shaking my hand for him to take it. "Besides, this is the closest a man has been to me in four years."

"Really?" he asked, bringing his hand to mine at our sides. "So . . . you _have_ been close to a man before then? I mean . . . _intimately_?"

I cocked my head at him and tried to read the reason behind the emphasizing in his sentence. Ultimately, I decided to answer his question with one of my own.

"Do you always ask women if they've had sex before?"

"Yes . . . no . . . wait! That's not what I mean. I mean another person could touch you like this without you being . . . uncomfortable?" he explained, though I didn't fully believe him.

"You are going to move clockwise when this song changes. There is another demo song," I explained, a little more irritation in my voice than I intended. "Count to four in your mind, and on the four, you are going to press all your weight on your right foot."

The next song started and he led me clockwise, sliding and swaying across the studio, his eyes still locked on mine, with the hint of apology behind them. As I mentally counted to four, he shifted his weight and moved gracefully back the other way in a gentle sweeping motion.

"Are you sure you can't dance?" I asked, as he continued to glide us across the room slowly.

"I never had a pretty girl to teach me how," he smiled. "Besides, when I touch you or see your face, the magic in me comes out."

"Is that your way of saying sorry about your earlier lapse in judgment?" I asked, only half serious.

"It's true, Isabella. I can see it in the way I paint. When I see your face or talk to you, and go back to paint, it's almost like the brush has a life of its own. And I'm sorry about what I said earlier, I didn't mean to assume anything," he said, extracting his hand from my back as soon as the song ended. His hand remained interlocked with mine.

"I'm not," I said quietly, lowering my eyes from his and pulling my hand out of his grip.

"Not what?" I heard him say.

"I'm not a virgin, Edward. I know that's what you want to know, so I'm telling you," I replied, bringing my hand to my neck and looking back up into his face. "You think that's why I have trouble with touching, don't you?"

"Well, isn't it?" Edward asked me, his eyes trying to read mine. "Emmett is such a fucking prick," he groaned.

"Emmett?" I asked, my eyebrows rising.

"Well, when you took off last night, I told him that I didn't understand why," Edward said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "He thought that maybe the reason you . . . _dislike_ physical contact, was because you were afraid to, well, _have sex_."

"That, I can assure you, is _not_ why I don't like being felt up! Is that all you see when you look at me, Edward? Somebody you can feel up, show a good time, and fuck?"

"What? No, Bella! Look," Edward sighed, taking his hands out of his pockets. "The night was going so well until I opened my mouth. Please forget what I said, Bella. And that is not true. I will wait until you decide you want me—_us_—to be together. If I have to wait for you to let me touch you in any way, then by-fucking-Joe, that is what I will do," he said, bringing his hand up to rest under my chin.

"I can't tell you why I find touching so intolerable. I wish I could," I whispered, looking into his eyes to seek some sign that it was alright, that he wouldn't ask.

"You don't have to tell me a thing about it, if you don't want to. But, Isabella, I want to be with you, and my hints have not been subtle. You have yet to tell me what you want or even what you're thinking," Edward stated, taking his other hand and grabbing mine, locking his fingers between mine.

"Anybody that can handle my damage has to be someone worth giving a try," I murmured. "But I have more skeletons in my closet than you think, Edward."

"We all do, Isabella. We all do."

He leaned forward and pressed his warm, soft lips to mine. Making sure that his hand only touched my chin, he tilted my head up so that he could get a better angle. His lips left mine momentarily as he kissed the corner of my mouth, down my chin and back up again to press his lips to mine. My hand that was free snaked around his neck, and I pressed myself against him lightly. I could feel his hard erection on my belly, and I gasped, stepping away slightly, pulling our lips apart when I did.

"Isabella? What's wrong?" Edward asked, concern lighting each word.

"Nothing," I lied, leaning back toward him, but as far away from Mr. Happy as I could. "This is new to me after four years."

"I understand. Would you just like to dance for tonight?" Edward smiled. "I liked that song. It was very me. Something I would sing for you, if I knew I wouldn't crack my kiln," he joked, taking my hand and bringing it to our sides. "Can I touch your back like before, Isabella?"

"Yes," I whispered.

He took my hand and we danced to the song, which Edward was humming as we drifting in and out of circles.

"Thank you, Bella," he said, while we continued to slowly drift across the studio floor.

"For what?"

"A chance."

"You're—" I started to say, before the door swung open.

Edward and I broke apart quickly, and turned toward the door. A woman, almond eyes and beautiful skin, stood in the doorway, her eyes piercing into Edwards. She looked familiar somehow as she walked into the room. I looked from her to Edward, and realized, from the look on his face, that he knew her. As she walked closer to us, I recognized where I knew her from.

She was the woman from Edward's painting.

Angie Weber.

"Edward, dear," she smiled. "You were supposed to come over this afternoon, baby. Where did you go?" she asked, raking her eyes over me. "Who's your friend?"

"Angie, what the _fuck_ are you doing here? Didn't I tell you earlier?" Edward sneered, turning his back on her and running his palms down his face. "Jesus Christ."

"Isabella Swan," I said, reaching out my hand to her.

"Nice to meet you, Isabella," she said without taking my hand. "Could you please leave? My boyfriend and I have something to talk about . . . in private."

"_Boyfriend_?" I repeated, looking to Edward, who was still standing with his back facing us.

"Yes, hon. Is there a problem with that, Isabella?" she crooned, crossing her arms.

I could feel my heart explode as the tears began to spring from the corners of my eyes.

"No. Not anymore," I told her, turning away from her and running to the table to collect my bag.

"Isabella!" Edward turned and called to me. "Please!"

I grabbed my bag and darted out the open door. The fresh tears flowed as I walked down the block. It had felt so amazing in his arms as he'd twirled me around and around. But he was just playing a dirty game with me. He probably had a bet with his friends, or his brother, as to how long it would take for me to let him touch me. I was so stupid to think that there was something between us; something real. He didn't even offer an explanation! This was too good to be true. I should have known it all along.

He was no better than Mike. He deceived me, and I had willingly believed that he was different.

Edward didn't deserve a chance, not anymore. He deserved nothing from me.

The tears stopped falling a half block from my apartment.

These were the last tears that would be wasted on Edward Masen.

*E_D_W_A_R_D*

-(*)-

I watched her dart from the studio, heard the sound of the double glass doors spring open, then close tightly shut. As soon as Bella was gone, Angie turned to me, a smile playing on her lips as she uncrossed her arms and reached out to touch my shoulder. I shook her off and stared at her with all the rage and bitterness I felt at that moment.

"You have five seconds to get the fuck out of my studio," I said while watching the smile slip from her face.

"I told you there were other ways, Edward. You can't get rid of me that easily. See, I'm not interested in letting your secrets out, if I don't have to. The only thing I want is you. And, by the looks of things, I'm all you have," she replied, stepping closer to me.

"Who told you she was here?" I spat, my gaze not leaving her face.

"I ran into Emmett on my way out of here this afternoon," she said. "He told me all about your little lessons. Pity, the girl needs lessons when her father is a renowned artist and owner of galleries." She laughed. "But it seems you were doing a bit more than giving her lessons in art, Edward."

"This is none of your fucking business, as I recall. Are you just fucking stupid, or can you actually not take the hint? I want nothing from you anymore, Angie. I don't want you around me, my studio, anywhere. Get the fuck out," I told her, walking past her to the table where all my paints sat.

"She's long gone, Edward. I doubt if—no, I _know_—she won't be back. I'm all you have, Edward. I'm sure she's beating herself up right now for trusting you, for thinking you actually _cared_ about her. But you don't care about her, do you? She's just some gap-closer for your guilty, indecisive conscience. I told you before, Edward. You belong to me and nobody else. I know your demons well, and I am hiding what I know because of the deal we made. So why are you pushing it all down the drain? Risking all this," she gestured around the room, "for _her_?"

I said nothing. Instead, I turned and angrily pushed all the paint jars, cans, and tubes to the floor, cracking the glass so that paint seeped all over the floor. I upturned the empty table, and then kicked paint jars out of my way as I turned and walked over to Angie, stopping an inch from her face.

I reached out my hand and pulled her hair at the nape of her neck, bringing her head forward violently. I took my free hand and reached down to grab her wrists to restrain her from touching me.

"There are a few things wrong with your bullshit, Angie," I whispered. "But let me humor you," I added, pressing my lips to her milky neck, and then trailing my lips up to her ear. "I don't want you anymore. So you have five seconds to get your fucking slutty ass as far from my studio as possible. And, if you come back here, I will personally throw you out on the street where you belong," I finished, violently pushing her face away and letting go of her hair.

"You will regret this, Edward. I'm not done here."

"Yeah-yeah. I know you, Angie. Ruthless _bitch_," I told her, moving forward so that she had to back up.

She backed up out of the studio door, and looked at me, her eyes irrational.

"Edward…"

I slammed the studio door in her face and turned. Taking in the mess of paint all over the floor, and the overturned table, I sighed and ran my hands over my eyes. I took my hands from my eyes and looked at my watch. 9:02. I opened the studio door and looked around for Angie. Not seeing her anywhere, I stepped out and into the reception area. I grabbed the phone at Alice's desk and dialed Bella's home phone. It rang, but the answering machine picked up.

"Um, Bella, it's Edward. Please pick up, I know you're there. _Please_, let me at least explain what happened. It was just a-" I got cut off by her machine. "Shit!"

Had it not been so late, I would have marched down to her apartment and demand to talk to her. As it was, there was nothing I could do about it until morning. I hung the phone up and walked back into the studio. I took one last look around at the mess, and decided that I would clean the paint up tomorrow, even if it would be dried to the floor. My eyes ventured over to the floor, where Bella's portrait lay. I must have knocked it over when my anger boiled over. I walked to it and picked it up. Its cover was still tightly in place, which had prevented it from being ruined. I took the cover off and looked at the gorgeous face of Bella Swan. I reached my hand out to touch the paint that made up her lips. Sighing, I replaced the cover and then set the portrait on top of the kiln. Kicking jars of paint out of my way, I closed the studio door and left.

Tomorrow, I would try to explain to Bella what had happened. Something in me told me she probably wouldn't want to hear. I could only hope.

But, by the look in her eyes as she left tonight, that hope was dimming quickly.

* * *

**Song that Edward first plays on the radio: "Someday Soon" by Nate Angelo: **http:/www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=8lAfUsRyqQ4

**Song that Bella teaches Edward to Dance to: "So Close" by Jon McLaughlin: **http:/www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=FH8WAoRL1xo

**

* * *

**_**One line sneek peek for chapter 5:**_

**...I turned my head to where she was gazing, and the scene in front of me made my heart drop.**

**"Oh, fucking _SHIT_!" I yelled at the top of my lungs...**


	5. Tarnished Varnish

TARNISHED VARNISH

5

* * *

Covering my bases on sensitive issues:

*NC17 CONTENT AHEAD!*

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS FLASHBACKS THAT CONTAIN SEXUAL ASSAULT. IF YOU ARE UNDER 16,**

**OR YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK…**

**

* * *

**

*B_E_L_L_A*

_-(*)-_

I hurt myself today  
To see if I still feel  
I focus on the pain  
the only thing that's real  
The needle tears a hole  
the old familiar sting  
try to kill it all away  
but I remember everything

What have I become?  
My sweetest friend  
Everyone I know  
goes away in the end  
You could have it all  
My empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt

* * *

"Okay, Bella. This has got to be classified as some sort of stalking," Rose said, pressing the button on the answering machine to move to the next message. "Stalkerville."

"Stop playing the fucking messages, then, Rose. I really don't feel like listening to them anymore, anyway," I said, placing my forehead in my hands.

It was the next morning, and Rose had come over last night after a frantic call from me. Though I didn't shed another tear, as promised, I didn't want to be alone in my apartment with just my own thoughts. All morning long, Edward been calling, leaving messages every time. I never answered, and when Rose begged me to let her "give him a verbal ass kicking," I declined. I had no intention of talking with Edward ever again.

"Listen to this poor son of a bitch, Bella," Rose pressed rewind and replayed the message she'd just heard.

"_Isabella, pick up the phone. I know you're there. If I have to, I will stand outside your door until you talk to me, and-Fucking machine!" Edward said, as the machine beeped and he was cut off._

"He's gone off the deep end, Bella."

"Thank you for the news flash, Rose. Please. Stop playing the messages. Don't you have to go to work soon?"

"Meh, I can skip it if you really need me, Bella. I'm not sure you should be alone, you know?" She bit her lip, which depressed me even more because it made me think of Edward.

"Rose, I'm a big girl, besides I'm sure I'll be moping around whether you're here or not. Not to mention, Tyler won't be very happy with you," I reminded her while taking the answering machine out of her hands, and setting it on the table. "Go."

"Tyler shmyler. The man has a crush on me the size of a whale, but," Rose visibly shuddered. "Eww."

"Rose, go," I repeated, pointing to the apartment door with my thumb. "Life stinks and then you die, but in the mean time you need money and a job to rake it in."

She sighed, but turned to gather her overnight bag from the bedroom. I heard her stomp through the hall and back into the living room, sitting her bag on the couch arm next to me.

"I will be back tonight. I'm bringing some Indian this time, so no plans, okay?" Rose said, stuffing her hairbrush into her bag and zipping it up. "If you need anything at all, you call me, alright?"

"Fine."

"Bella…" Rose warned. "Last time you said that, I got a call from Forks General Hospital," She said seriously. "Tell me this isn't the same?"

"No, Rose. I wasn't almost _raped_ this time, for fuck's sake. Sure, I got _fucked_, but not in the literal sense," I told her, rolling my eyes. "By the way, thanks for reminding me that I'm just a damaged, flighty woman, who hasn't fucked anyone in _four_ years, and the first man I _do_ let touch me since then turns out to be a lying, conniving piece of _shit_," I spat at her, the tears beginning to form in my eyes.

"Okay, I'm going to assume that it's what you've been through these last two days, _and_ the fact that finals are tomorrow, that's talking, Bella. I was there while you were hooked up to those machines, Isabella. Do you realize how much that traumatized me?" Rose replied, sitting beside me and reaching over to dispel the stray tears that had fallen from the corners of my eyes. "I love you like you were my own sister, Bella. It would hurt me to know something happened while I was away."

"Sorry, Rose," I apologized. "I guess I'm just a little too fucked up for anyone but you," I laughed lightly, placing my head at the crook of her neck. "I really thought he was _different_, Rose."

"If you thought it, Bella, then there has to be something good about him. Four years is a long time. Maybe you owe it to yourself to at least let him attempt to explain his idiotic, shameless, tasteless lies," Rose replied, pushing me upright and getting off the couch. "I have to go if I want to get there before Tyler does. For the record, he thinks I have nice boobs," she smiled, grabbing her bag off the couch and turning for the door.

"He tells you that?" I scoffed.

"Frequently. Of course, Victoria's Secret tends to help perk his attention," she said, pushing her cleavage up and turning and walking out of the living room. A moment later, I heard the door slam shut, and the code being entered into the number pad.

I lie on the couch and pulled the afghan off the top, draping it over my legs and waist. I was so exhausted. I had called Rose last night in frantic fashion, and she had come over as she always did, and stayed with me through the night. While she slept beside me in the double bed, however, I was wide awake, my mind wandering all over. Mostly, it wandered to what I thought Edward was, and what he had instantly become.

I didn't think he thought of that Weber girl in that way anymore, because he had referred to her as his "ex." He had said it with loathing, and then there was no other mention of her, other than the painting being in his apartment. It wasn't all that odd that he had her nude painting in his apartment, most artists do that. My father often did that with his work, hanging it above the mantle, or on the walls in the upstate home we used in the winter. Over top of this Edward situation, finals were tomorrow. My future depended on this. How much more stress could I take?

Just as my eyes began to drift closed, the phone rang again.

"Fuck you, Edward," I muttered, allowing the machine to pick up.

"Bella. It's Phil. You were absent again. I'm just reminding you that finals start at nine sharp. If you don't take them, there isn't another chance to, so just get your ass in here. And, Bella, Good luck," Phil said, hanging up the phone with a click.

I groaned, and picked up the phone, unplugged the cord and shoved the base with the receiver onto the carpet.

"Fuck you, too, Phil," I said, stretching my hand across my eyes and closing them.

The blackness came easily in my exhaustion, the shadows behind my eyelids opening up to the deeply embedded memories that rested far beyond.

_My eyes flew open, and I was back in the darkness of four years ago. I could hear myself in the distance, begging._

"_Please," I begged, pulling at his shirt, causing my nails to split and break from the pressure. "Mike, __please__."_

"_Bella, shut the fuck up! Do you want people to hear how easy you are?" Mike demanded, pressing his fingers into my waist while his other hand loosened the buttons of my shirt. "It would be easier if you'd stop fighting me!"_

"_No, Mike. I don't want to do this!" I choked out, the sobs uncontrollable and my vision blurry._

"_You're a fucking tease! You walk around like you want to jump all over me, and then when we get alone you act so fucking shy. But you're just a little fucking tease, aren't you?" Mike said harshly, reaching his hand up to squeeze my breast. Hard. "You like that, don't you?"_

_I squealed hoarsely at the pain that shot from my breast to my sternum. His hand then fell to my lap, inching up under the lavender skirt I wore. My eyes closed tightly, my mind no longer attached to my body. I was somewhere safe; somewhere I couldn't feel the pain, the shame, and the utter uselessness I felt as his dirty hands touched me._

"_That's right, baby, I'll make it feel good. So fucking good," Mike said, sliding his hand farther up my leg._

_He leaned in to kiss my face roughly, and when I pulled away from him, his hand that had been loosening my buttons came up into my hair and pulled my head violently backward. _

"_Ah, ah…be a good little Bella," he said, pulling my hair until he could see my face wince in pain. "You were being so good there for a minute. I won't hurt you, Bella. You can trust me," he repeated, bending once again to kiss my lips roughly._

_He let my hair go and pulled the loose shirt off my shoulders, and then bent down to kiss my right shoulder. He bit into the flesh a little, and I whimpered in pain. He pushed the shoulder strap of my white bra down past my elbow, allowing one of my breasts to spill out of the cup. He bent his lips down to the nipple as I cried silently, willing for this to be over. If he had to finish his torture, so be it, as long as I could make it out of here and away from him._

"_Mike!" I shouted hoarsely as his hand found the elastic of my underwear at my hip._

"_Shh," he soothed again, tracing the white elastic around to my bellybutton with his fingers._

_I could feel his fingers curve as his hand dipped below to the cotton of the panties. I could feel his hand glide over the pubic thatch, and rest there._

"_You're wet already, Bella. See? You do want me," Mike smiled. "Don't cry. It will only make it seem worse than it is."_

_I closed my eyes in silent surrender, willing myself not to feel. If I felt, if there was any trace of feeling in my bones, I would pass out. I gasped loudly as I felt his fingers glide down the opening, his fingers slow and merciless. My eyes flew open as I felt his index finger push into the heat._

_With the last bit of strength I had left, in that moment of feeling, I screamed…_

"Bella! Goddamn it, Bella! Wake up!"

The voice was distant at first, the screaming echoing in my head. I felt the push of a hand on my shoulder, and the voice shouted again. My eyes flung open, and I turned my head. Immediately, I backed up quickly into the couch, bringing my knees to my chin. My eyes cascaded downward, to the floor where the afghan lay crumpled. My eyes wandered back up to the figure kneeling in front of the couch, eyes wide and fear etched across his perfect features.

"What-what are you _doing_ here?" I whispered, my voice cracking.

"You were screaming your head off in here, Isabella!" Edward said, raking his hand through his messy hair. "I tried to wake you up, but you kept on screaming."

"How did you get in here? The door's alarm is on," I asked him, wiping the sweat from my face with my sleeve.

"Yeah, about that… You _may,_ or _may not,_ need a new glass door…" he said. "I _may,_ or _may not,_ have kicked in the glass."

"Edward! Tell me you didn't kick in the Italian inset glass my father paid huge bucks for?" I said, palming my face.

"Well, you were literally screaming at the top of your lungs! I thought you were being attacked. Imagine my surprise when I kicked in the door, hoping to kick some ass superman-style, and find only you here, writhing around screaming," Edward replied, picking the afghan up off the floor and draping it over my still curled up body. "What is going on, Bella?"

"My house, my questions," I said, avoiding his question with every ounce of flesh. "Why did you come over in the first place?" I asked, crossing my arms, and watching as he sat near my feet at the bottom of the couch.

"I tried to call you for about the one hundredth time, and you didn't answer . . . _again_," he explained, his eyes narrowing. "I walked over here to beg you to let me talk to you, when I heard you screaming. I tried to get the alarm off. Needless to say, Emmett is wrong, I'm not good with my hands," he joked, shrugging.

"You can leave the same way you got in," I said, throwing the afghan off and standing up. "I don't want you here, Edward."

"Bella, please—"

"Out! Get out! _GET OUT_!" I hurled at him, my fists balling at my sides.

"Please-"

"Edward…"

"Bella. Goddamn it! Let me fucking explain, alright? I've spent nearly all day trying to call you, could you please just hear me out?"

I stood quietly, watching his gaze fall to my face. His eyes seemed to apologize for his tone, and he sighed as he dragged his hand through his messy hair, again.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you, but you left me little choice, Isabella. I want to fill you in on what happened last night. I know," he added, seeing my mouth open to respond, "that you _think_ you know what happened, but you are completely clueless."

"Angie is-"

"What the _fuck _happened here, Bella?" I heard Rose's voice say, looking at the two of us from her place in the doorway. "And just what the _fuck_ are _you_ doing here?" she asked Edward, her hands on her hips.

"Rose! Why are you here? I thought you left for work," I asked her.

"The guide downstairs called me and said he could hear screaming and glass breaking, so I came as fast as I could. What the fuck happened, Bella?"

"The glass is entirely my fault," Edward broke in, turning to face Rose. "I am sorry about that."

"Unless you suddenly grew tits and answer to Bella, I wasn't fucking talking to you. _Bella_," she emphasized, "what's going on here?"

"Rose, calm down. It's fine," I said, silently communicating with her what had happened. "Edward was just trying to help, but now he's leaving, right?" My stony gaze turned to Edward, who exhaled sharply, but nodded.

"Yes, right. Bella, is there somewhere we can talk privately about what happened?" he said, looking from me to Rose and then back again. "I could pick you up this afternoon and we can just go have coffee?"

"Don't you think you did enough to her for one day?" Rose said, walking over to stand beside me, her hand clasping on my wrist. "She's fucked up enough; she doesn't need you adding to it."

"Rose…" I started. She clicked her tongue in impatience, and then looked away from us.

"Bella, it's all I'm asking. Remember last night when I just wanted a chance? Well, I want that same thing from you, now. Coffee, that's it. Bring your guard dog," he nodded at Rose, "if you have to, but please let me explain."

"You have_ one_ chance, Edward. And even that is too much. Coffee," I agreed, sighing. "By the way, you are paying for the door you kicked in. You are not superman; remember that for future events like this."

He smiled crookedly at me, and nodded.

"You seem to be the only Kryptonite when it comes to me," he said.

"Did you seriously just use a cheap cliché? Are you freaking pranking me?" Rose scoffed.

"I'll have Emmett come by to fix the door before I pick you up. He's handy with that stuff. He's an idiot, but still handy."

"Um, you can show yourself out," Rose called. "For your information, next time you feel the need to play hero, dial 911 for fuck's sake."

"Noted," he said, walking past her and into the hallway. "Pick you up at six?" he asked, looking back at me.

"Six."

He looked at Rose, and smiled. "Are you sure you don't know my brother, Emmett?"

"Didn't you just say he was an idiot?"

"Exactly. Bye, Isabella."

He was gone from sight, the sound of glass crunching under his shoes. Rose was left there to figure out his joke, which she seemed to be struggling with.

"You have a lot of explaining to do," Rose scolded, coming over to me and dragging me by my arm toward the kitchen. "Right now."

As we passed the hall, I looked out of the kicked in glass door, and groaned.

Edward would want an explanation, too.

And I wasn't too keen on telling him, either.

* * *

*E_D_W_A_R_D*

_**-(*)-**_

I wear this crown of shit  
Upon my liar's chair  
Full of broken thoughts  
I cannot repair  
Beneath the stains of time  
the feelings disappears  
You are someone else  
I am still right here

What have I become?  
my sweetest friend  
Everyone I know  
goes away in the end  
You could have it all  
my empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt

If I could start again  
a million miles away  
I would keep myself  
I would find a way...  
-(*)-

* * *

"Where's Em, Alice?" I asked, walking into the gallery ten minutes later and heading to the water machine for a drink.

She looked up from filing her nails, and shrugged. "I think he's around somewhere. Why?"

I took a gulp of water, and then turned and headed back down the long hallway, toward the small lounge area.

"Emmett? Where are you?" I called out.

Emmett stuck his head out of the doorway, his mouth full of the cookies that Esme had baked earlier in the week.

"I'm 'ere, 'an. What do you 'ant?" he asked, spitting out cookie crumbs as he spoke.

I reached my knee up and nailed him right in the groin, which caused the cookie to fall from his mouth and onto the floor. I laughed uproariously as I watched him grab his nuts and squeak out a small gasp.

"What the hell was that for? You got some kind of fascination with hitting my balls, man," Em choked out, his knees buckling. "Fuck, Edward. I plan to have kids someday."

"That's for planting the idea that Bella was a virgin in my head, you dick." I continued to laugh.

"You didn't have to tell her, stupid. Did you come all the way back here just to kick me in the baby maker?"

"I'd hate to see the kids _that _thing makes, Em. No. Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a favor," I said, leaning against the door frame, crossing my arms.

"After you slammed me in my balls? Fuck you!" he said, straightening up and reaching for another cookie. "Making me waste these fuckawesome cookies!"

"Em, it's not for me. Well, it is, but it was my fault," I explained, watching as his eyes narrowed from behind the hand he was using to stuff his face. "I kicked in Bella's glass door, and I need for you to repair it."

"How desperate are you about this chick? Breaking into her house? You're a regular fucking Norman Bates*, Ed my man. You kick in her door to _boom-chicka-wow-wow_? Wow, Eddie-boy. Desperate! But alright, I will go fix your fuck up," he shrugged, chewing loudly. "Hand over your MasterCard. I am not paying for this shit."

"Thanks, Em," I replied, reaching into my pocket for my wallet, and handing him the card. "Sorry about your balls."

"Yeah, fuck you and your sympathetic apologies," he smiled, clasping me on the shoulder as he passed me. "Norman Bates," he scoffed, walking down the hall.

I followed Em back into the reception area, and saw Mike standing at Alice's desk, a smile on his thin, worn face.

"How's it hanging, Emmett?" Mike asked as Em passed him on his way out.

"A little sore and crooked, thanks," Em replied, slipping out the double doors.

Mike wiped the smile from his face, and turned to me.

"So, Mike, here you are," I said unenthusiastically. "Still searching for a job, huh?"

He nodded at me, and the smiled returned. I sighed, but motioned for him to follow me.

"Alright then, Mike. This won't be like what Mr. Swan used to give you. You are not going to be setting shit up or anything. This is all janitorial, deal?"

"Yeah, I understand. That's, yeah…" he said, watching as I opened the door to my studio.

"You can start by cleaning up all the paint on the floor and picking the table back up. I'll pay you under the table, in cash. Make sure you get all that shit, too," I said, pointing to the floor and then to the small cabinet mounted above the kiln. "In there are all the cleaning crap stuff I have Alice use, so have at it."

"You leaving?" he asked, trudging across the studio and bending down to collect the spilled, broken jars.

"Yes, I have to meet somebody soon. I'll be back here later to finish a painting, though. When you're done here, go ask Alice what else you can do."

He nodded, and I turned and left him to it.

Alice looked up from the desk as I approached.

"Getting him to do your dirty work, Edward?" She smiled faintly.

"Be happy, Al. Just be glad that it isn't you in there on your hands and knees. I'm going to be gone a little while. Do you think you can babysit Mike, make sure he doesn't steal any of the paintings?" I scoffed.

"Yeah, I guess," She shrugged. "Where are you going, Edward?"

I hesitated, my face contorting into something like a mask. I sighed, and then ran my hand down my face.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah."

"I went over to Bella's house today to-well, I went over there," I said, leaving out the gritty details, "and invited her for coffee. But, I'm not _Emmett_, Alice. I'm not a smooth talker, or a guy with great lines. I need some help in showing her how-_into_ her I am," I finished, and then rolled my eyes at Alice's devious smile.

I was going to tell her the truth that I wanted something that says, "I'm sorry," but decided against it. Because then she would want details, lots and lots of details.

"_Boom- chicka-wow-wow_," Alice sang, doing a small rowing movement with her arms. "You really like this girl, don't you?" she sighed. "Alright, so she's a nerdy, arty person like you, right?"

I nodded. "For the record, I am offended that you think I'm _nerdy_."

"Edward . . . you walk around all painted up and sweaty. Either you're a nerd, or you're a sick pervert with a fetish for rolling around in paint. Now, I think I got this one, Edward. Leave me to it," she winked, turning around to pull the phone book out from under the desk.

"You are completely wrong, Alice. I am not a 'sick pervert with a fetish for rolling around in paint,'" I responded, turning from her. "It's the colors, Alice. Taste the rainbow," I chortled as I walked away. "And don't be buying . . . those . . . _ass floss_ panties for her, or something! I mean it!"

"_Ass floss_? You mean thongs?" Alice called.

I didn't answer. I only hoped she would buy something . . . _respectable_ for Bella. I didn't need for Bella to be even more pissed at me. I only hoped that she would let me explain my side of things and understand how much of a crazy bitch Angie was. I also planned to ask her why she was screaming her head off like that. There was more to it than just a simple nightmare. She looked, when I got to her, like she was struggling against something, but it was just empty air.

Perhaps she might tell me on her own, which I doubted, but there was always a possibility. Something deep in the pit of my stomach knew something was amiss with her. Something she was trying to hide, or not discuss. It could be many things, and that scared me. Her beauty was something she seemed to question, and the closer she grew to me, the further she seemed to fall. Her hesitation was different when we were alone, rather than like the night she and I spoke at Jake's. And then, in the deepest recesses of my mind and heart, there was a small part that was scared to find out what was going on. Maybe, if she revealed what was going on, she would find a way to blame herself, and drift away from me.

I was falling in love with her. That's why it hurt when she ran from me last night. If she had stayed, and I really didn't expect her to, I would have explained it all to her, and we could have crossed that bridge already.

But I certainly wasn't going down without a fight. I would will her to understand, and give me a second chance to prove how much she really meant to me. I wanted to touch her, intimately, this was true. I had to extend every ounce of will not to reach out and stroke her somewhere where she would pull away or flee. I wanted to work on that, and I hoped she did, too. She seemed to grow toward me, like a magnet, in the few times we had been alone. She seemed to make progress, and I hoped that she would build on it further.

I was nearly all the way to my car when I heard it. There was loud yelling coming from inside the studio, where I could hear a man and Alice yelling.

"What the fuck is going on?" I murmured.

I turned around quickly, and ran back inside the double doors, lunging into the reception area.

"Alice! What is it?" I asked her breathlessly, seeing that she was physically fine.

"Oh, Edward…" she whispered, tears staining the mascara on her face, making it run. "Oh! No."

I turned my head to where she was gazing, and the scene in front of me made my heart drop.

"Oh, fucking _SHIT_!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

_-(*)-_

*B_E_L_L_A*

-(*)-

"Edward's an idiot, but he didn't mean _this_," Emmett said, pointing to the door that stood against the brick beside its original place in the door molding. "He must really have wanted in here badly." Emmett smirked, and then bent to pick up his drill.

"Oh. Yes, that's really attractive. Your ass crack is showing," Rose commented, repulsed. "Brother like brother."

"You're a feisty one, sexy mama." Emmett winked at her.

"Fuck you, and your broken ass," she hissed, turning and bouncing off into the living room.

"Rose," I said, dismissing her comment. "Did Edward tell you why he kicked in the door, Emmett?" I asked, praying silently that Edward didn't mention anything of the sort to him.

"He was too busy whacking my walnuts, Bella. He just told me to come over and fix what he broke," he replied, looking up at me from the drilling he was doing. "He told me about what happened last night. I'm sorry, Bella."

"It wasn't your fault…"

"I gave him the idea that you were . . . _flowered_. I'm sorry about that," he said, going back to drilling the glass into the frame, trying to avoid my surly gaze. "Don't be mad at him for what I made him think."

"You think that's why I'm upset with him?" I asked, watching as his eyes drifted up to mine. "Is that what he told you?"

"Hey, now. I don't know what went on last night, but he only told me . . . no, he _showed_ me, by hitting me in the ball bags, that he told you my theory, and you were upset about it. Or, at least, that's my impression," he said, sitting the drill on the ground and avoiding my gaze.

"Emmett, what can you tell me about Angie Weber?" I asked, leaning against the doorjamb as he started to replace a brand new knob on the new door.

"Angie? Well..." He trailed off, suddenly paying way too much attention to his work. "Edward and her used to…"

"Fuck?" I blurted out unintentionally.

He looked at me and smiled. "No."

"No?"

"Edward and Angie started out as friends for the longest time. Angie was one of those . . . what the hell do you call people who pose for artists to draw 'em and shit?" Emmett scratched his head with the screwdriver.

"Art models."

"Right. Well, she was one of those for Edward's academic classes in art. And, well, they became good friends."

"Friends? Are you sure that's all they were, Emmett? Because last night, she barged into his studio, and said Edward was her 'boyfriend,'" I told him, watching as he stood up straight and shrugged.

"All I can tell you, Bella, is that Angie is a crazy, vindictive bitch when it comes to Edward. Everyone knows she takes a possessive stance when it comes to him. But, Bella…" he trailed off seriously, looking me dead in the eye.

"What?"

"Edward isn't into her. Like, at all. He has nothing toward her as far as feelings. He's falling for you faster than me for cookies, Bella. If this is why you are ripping his heart out, which is what you are doing, then it's wrong," he said, throwing his tools into his toolbox on the ground.

"Are they-were they ever…?"

"Did they screw?" he smiled at my blushing, and then shrugged. "I don't know. I suspect they have, but then you would need to ask him about it. Just don't jump to any conclusions, Bella. Everyone has something they resent. The door is all fixed, now," he said, closing the toolbox and picking it up.

"Thanks, Emmett. I appreciate it. You're not as dumb as Edward makes you out to be," I smiled at him.

"Nice to know he thinks so highly of me. Just be glad you don't have balls, Bella," he laughed. "But I mean it. Edward has fallen head over heels for you. Don't let anyone fool you otherwise," he said. "Bye, Bella. Bye, sexy mama!"

"Fuck off, idiot," Rose called from the living room.

He smiled at me, and winked. "Bye, Bella."

I watched him disappear from sight, then shut the newly fixed door and sighed.

"We will see at six. We will see…"

_**-(*)-**_

A few hours later, Rose and I were sitting at the table, eating the Indian she'd promised for later in the evening, when the phone rang. I put down my carton to answer it, but Rose beat me to it.

"Oh, no! Eat your food. I'll get it," Rose said, slipping her fork into her carton and placing it on the counter.

She answered the phone a second later, and immediately her face pulled tight.

"Can you talk to Bella? Oh, I don't know, how about 'over my dead body'? Too cliché?" Rose clicked her tongue in impatience.

I hopped off the stool and took the phone from her, covering up the mouthpiece with my palm.

"Rose, are you ovulating, or is this some kind of natural bitch defense? Back off," I scolded, turning around and releasing my palm from the receiver. "Hello, this is Bella."

I listened for a moment, and in that small amount of time, my face fell and I closed my eyes.

"But you said to give you a chance, Edward! Now _you _are going to blow me off? What is so important that you can't have a simple conversation with me?" I said, while my voice quivered and I opened my eyes.

I listened to the short reply, and sighed.

"You can't tell me, huh? What emergency? Angie wants you to draw her naked again?" I asked harshly. "You blew your second chance, Edward. I hope you have a nice life and fun with her," I lied, hanging up.

As Rose walked over to me, the tears started to come again. I thought there was a chance Edward and I could work things out, and make a fresh start. But I was wrong.

It was over before it ever began.

The tears I said I would never waste on Edward Masen fell from my eyes.

* * *

**A/N:**

*This chapter affected me a lot...I did some research using real stories of sexual assault to get the emotion and mannerisms down, and it really, seriously took a toll on me. I also read 'A Child Called 'It' by David Pelzer to get an idea of the depressive ways abused people think (not just sexual assault) and that book really, honestly made me cry. While my story is not real, there are real life stories just as and even MORE horrific then you can imagine. When I started the idea and outline for this story, I didn't plan to be so heavily affected with this complicated storyline. I honestly die a little when I have type up the flashbacks...you have no idea. I'm sure this is true for all deep shit writers...

*Norman Bates is a reference to the movie "Psycho" (circa 1960) starring Anthony Perkins. He dresses as his dead mother, and stalks and kills women under the direction of his dead mother. Good movie! There is also a 1998 version with Anne Heche and Vince Vaughn.

*I am officially on hiatus with this story typing. Good news is, I've written _WAY_ ahead, so you won't know the difference. Bad news is, updates will definitely be 2 weeks apart.

*Thanks to my Beta, Susie (xLavenderMoonx)

*Follow me on Twitter: http:/www(dot)twitter(dot)com/eclipticaldust

*Thanks for all the reviews. Though I can't get to them all, I do read them **ALL** and love feedback. Please continue to rec the fucking shit outta this :)

-*Shena (hypnoticmemories)*-


	6. Consisting of the strange

CONSISTING OF THE STRANGE, THE TWISTED AND DERANGED.

6.

* * *

Covering my bases on sensitive issues:

*Rated _**NC-17**_ (some assault references)

WARNING: SOME OF THIS CHAPTER MAY CONTAIN FLASHES OF IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK…

* * *

*Por Juli para visualizar parte do presente e dar-me algum feedback para me motivar para terminá-lo. Muito obrigado.

* * *

*Lots of 'fuck' words, all forms (ing, ed, etc.) Fair warning.

*Song for this chapter: The Bitter End by Placebo

_Since we're feeling so anesthetized__  
__In our comfort zone__  
__Reminds me of the second time__  
__That I followed you home__  
__We're running out of alibis__  
__On the second of May__  
__Reminds me of the summer time__  
__On this winter day__  
__See you at the bitter end__  
__See you at the bitter end_

_

* * *

_

*E_D_W_A_R_D*

-(*)-

I groaned as I slammed the phone down on the base. I raced my hand through my messy hair and sighed. I didn't blame her for being pissed at me, and I didn't even blame her for thinking this was all about Angie. If there was another choice in the matter, I wouldn't have broken off my promise to explain.

My eyes wandered over to Mike, who was cleaning up the puddle of paint that had dripped from the canvas; the canvas of Bella for the art show.

"Remind me again how you ruined my painting and fucked up some important shit, Mike," I said, sitting on the desk and pinching the bridge of my nose.

He looked up at me with an innocent face and shrugged. "I don't know," he whispered.

"You don't fucking know how you ruined my brother's painting? Are you shitting me, here?" Alice spat, pointing to the defaced painting.

The oil had been dissolved in bleach. The entire painting had been obliterated, the subject behind the white, harsh chemical was no longer recognizable, and the canvas was flimsy and pliable. Mike lowered his eyes and continued to clean up the puddle.

"How did the burlap get off the painting, Mike? Did you pull it off?" I asked him, lowering my hand from my nose and crossing my arms. "Did you take the cover off and forget to put it back on the fucking painting, or not?"

"Only after it was already destroyed. I just wanted to see what it was of," Mike murmured, his voice quivering. "Burlap is porous, and the-" he started to say, getting to his feet and reaching for another towel to puddle up the paint and bleach.

"Are you fucking justifying your stupid clumsiness by saying it would have been ruined anyway? Fuck you, Mike, and your nosy ass," Alice said, turning to me and closing her eyes. "Want me to fire his _three-stooge_ ass, Edward? I know he's only been working here for fifteen minutes. I mean," she said opening her eyes, "this has to be a Guinness world record for the shortest time at a job!"

"It was just an accident," Mike said, throwing the drenched towels in the trash.

"Your 'accident' is causing a shitload of problems," Alice said, turning to me. "What do you plan to do, Edward?"

"I can't very well finish a painting of Bella in a few hours," I said. "At least, not one that will impress the art community!"

"Bella? Like, _Isabella Swan_?" Mike broke in, his eyes wide and his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Yeah. Do you know her?" I asked him, my eyes narrowing slightly.

"Uh…yes…no. Not…not really. I worked for her father, and we sometimes met the family…" he trailed off, turning and grabbing the defaced painting and heading back into the studio.

"What do you plan to do then, Edward?" Alice asked, averting my attention from the odd behavior.

"I don't know, Al. I still have the conte render sketches from Bella's portrait work, but I don't know if I can do it," I sighed.

"Edward, after the phone call you just made to her, you better," Alice said. "Maybe I can find a good picture from one of the other art show years? Would that help?"

"It would give me a better visual of her, yes," I lied.

I could close my eyes and visualize her easily, with every single detail etched into my mind. I didn't need a picture. I just wanted it to possibly release some of the sexual tension that had been building up in me. I smiled at that thought when I felt a smack on my arm.

"Edward Anthony Masen! Please tell me that smile is not about what I _think_ it is? _Ew_," Alice said, turning and shuddering as she walked through the hall to the back.

"You _said_ it, I only _thought_ it, and so you are the pervert here. Ah, she knows me so well," I laughed, turning to walk back into the studio to survey the damage Mike inflicted.

Mike looked up at me, from his position on the floor, as I entered the room. He was mopping up the paint with a microfiber cloth. His expression was apologetic, and his hands shook slightly.

"Calm down, Mike. We aren't a bunch of vampire murderers or anything. It was an accident. What can I do?" I told him, sitting on the stool and running my hand through my hair. "You just made it more difficult for me, that's all."

"I bet it was an amazing painting," he said softly, pouring cleanser onto the cloth and sopping the oil.

"It was the best portrait ever. She was an amazing model for it."

"Isabella is very beautiful," he said, avoiding my gaze.

There was no excuse for what I felt right then, but it was heat in my chest rising to the surface. I bit back the urge to growl at him.

"Yes. Beautiful isn't even in the same dictionary with what she is. Have you ever spoken with her at any of Charlie's shindigs?" I leaned forward and cleared my throat.

"Well, uh…no, not personally. We spoke a few times, but it was just making conversation."

"What can you tell me about her?" I inquired, watching him dab a bead of sweat off his forehead.

"Well…I don't know much. The only thing I can tell you is that Bella was a bit of a drama queen. You know, making things out of nothing. I haven't seen her in about four or five years. Rumor had it that she was seeing a shrink, and that was the last I saw of her," he said, standing to get the mop that stood against the table behind him.

"A shrink?" I repeated. "For what?"

Mike shrugged. "Probably owning up to the fact she was a skank."

Without a thought in my mind—and even if I had thought about it, I would have done it the same way—I flew up from the stool and grabbed the mop from Mike, flinging it to the floor. My hand shot out to grab him by the throat, my fingers digging into his jugular with deep pressure.

"Don't you dare call her that," I fumed, my face inches from Mike's scared, panicked face. "Take it back."

"I…" he started to hiss from his mouth.

"Edward, let him down!" I heard Alice call from behind me. "Right now, Edward!"

"Alice, he called Bella a skank. I need him to let me know which shoe he wants up his ass and out his mouth," I said, twisting my fingers, making him wince in pain.

"You may want to wait to do that, Edward," Alice replied. Her tone of voice made me glance over my shoulder.

She was standing in the doorway holding three photographs, her eyes scanning from me to them, her face a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"Alice—"

"Let him the fuck down now, Edward Masen! Come here and look at these," she commanded, stamping her foot in anger.

"Fuck!" I shouted. I turned to Mike and let his throat go.

"Get your ass out of my studio. Don't think we are finished here," I said, grabbing a fist full of his shirt and swinging him around, pushing him toward the door. "If you don't come back to finish cleaning your mess tomorrow, I'll send Emmett to find you, asshole," I told him, pushing past Alice and pushing Mike out the double doors.

When I returned, Alice shoved the photos at me and frowned.

"What? Are these the pictures of Bella from a few years ago?"

"Five years ago, Edward. Take a closer look."

My eyes drifted down to the photo. It was a picture of Charlie, Bella, a young woman, Rose, and, beside Bella, with his arms wrapped tightly around the waist of a smiling Bella, was Michael Newton. My eyes zoomed in on Bella's smiling face, in which she seemed happy and comfortable with Newton's arm around her. I threw the picture to the floor, and looked at the one that had been underneath. This picture depicted Bella and Mike in a passionate kiss as they danced on a white floor. I discarded that picture in the same manner as the first and looked at the final picture.

"She's playing with me," I whispered, anger lighting my tone. "She's fucking messing with me."

The third picture was the most upsetting. Bella was sitting on Newton's lap, her hand on his chest, and her smile playing on her lips as she touched her neck, with his other hand rested on her outer thigh.

"Edward?" Alice murmured. "You alright?"

I folded the picture and placed it in my pocket, then turned to Alice and nodded.

"Fucking awesome, Alice, I'm fucking great," I said, turning from her to head out the double doors and away from it all.

"Where are you going?"

"To find something to numb it," I said.

"Numb what? Edward!" Alice called.

I didn't answer. I knew the feeling well, now. I could feel it eating at me, even if it was an unfair feeling. Why wouldn't she let me touch her like that? I was starting to think maybe she was playing games with me, messing with my emotions.

There was a huge emotion flowing through me right now as I stuck my hand in my pocket and felt the acetate of the photograph.

_Jealousy._

_

* * *

_

_Every step we take that's synchronized__  
__Every broken bone__  
__Reminds me of the second time__  
__That I followed you home__  
__You shower me with lullabies__  
__As you're walking away__  
__Reminds me that it's killing time__  
__On this fateful day__  
__See you at the bitter end__  
__See you at the bitter end__  
__See you at the bitter end__  
__See you at the bitter end_  
-

*B_E_L_L_A*

-(*)-

I placed the canvas onto the easel and groaned. I was way too upset and stressed to study, but I knew what would happen if I didn't at least get some practice in before the finals that were in mere hours. After successfully ridding myself of Rose, who stayed with me until she had to leave for a meeting, I solemnly led myself to my studio to lock away my depressed mood.

As my brush flew across the thick, heavy material, I tried my damnedest not to think of Edward's broken chance, and what he was doing right now. My guess, as dark as it was, was that he was fucking Angela Weber while she posed naked for him for his painting. His lack of explanation as to why he broke his promise to tell me what happened last night said it all.

"Fuck," I swore as the brush snapped in half from the pressure I applied.

I threw the brush into the sink and grabbed another, dipping it into the jar of paint set up on the table behind the easel. I looked around at the five canvases that were strewn on the floor, strokes of paint battering their surfaces. I had broken three other brushes, all of which joined the one I'd just discarded into the sink. I had no right to be this upset, and broken, over this. Wasn't it me who didn't want anything to do with his anymore? Wasn't it Edward who I vowed not to cry over anymore? Twice, he had extracted the painful tears that slid from my eyes. But now, here in my own thoughts, anger began to seep in. But the anger, in as many ways as it could possibly show itself, was not for Edward's behavior. The anger was for the things I could not do to keep him separated from anyone but me. Angie could touch him, and he could touch her. Edward was a man, and his needs were not without notice.

"You can't give him what he needs to choose you," I whispered, breaking the fifth brush. "He can't even fucking touch you properly!"

I slammed the broken handle of the brush down on the table and turned from the canvas. Concentration went out the window when I first set eyes on Edward Masen. I lifted my hands to my eyes and sighed. I was convinced completely that I would die alone. No man would want me if they couldn't even show me the proper way to love, to _make_ love. Edward was the closest any man was to me, and now he was out fucking some other woman because his hands had boundaries on my body; a roadmap with detours.

I went over to the sink and turned on the tap, palming my hands under the water to collect the coolness. I splashed the water on my face, then reached to turn the tap off, and sighed. As I turned for the towel sitting on the counter, I heard it.

The sound was faint, but just audible enough for me to catch. It sounded like creaking. I abandoned the towel and silently crept out of the studio, keeping my body pressed up against the wall as I glided slowly toward the front door, where the sound came from. The living room was cast in darkness, and I knew I had not turned it out. I never turned out any of my apartment lights. The darkness of four years ago always haunted the shadows, so all the apartment lights were kept on at all times during the evening hours. My heartbeat quickened with fear as my hand stretched for the light switch around the corner from the main doorway. I flipped it on, swallowed, and quickly peeked into the living room.

"Jesus Christ, Edward! How the hell did you get in here?" I asked, my hand flying to my heart as I walked out from behind the wall and stood in the doorway.

Edward was sitting on the couch, his hands holding what looked to be paper, his eyes focusing on it with intensity.

"I remembered the code you typed in, Isabella. You should really watch who you do that in front of," Edward said, looking at me for the first time. "No superman antics, this time."

I was going to respond when the smell of alcohol filled my nose. I watched as he looked back down at the paper in his hands and smiled.

"You're intoxicated, Edward."

"No, I am not," he hesitated, closing his eyes. "Well, maybe just a little."

"What are you doing here, Edward?" I said, crossing my arms. "I thought you had something, or _someone,_ to attend to?"

"Which three of those should I answer first?" he smiled, opening his eyes and looking at me with hazy, unfocused intensity.

"'Maybe just a little'? Edward, you are completely inebriated. I'm going to call Emmett to come take you home so you can sleep it off. Hey," I added sarcastically, "maybe _Angie_ will help you sober up."

"Oh, no! Please don't call _Emmett _on me!" he gasped in mock horror. "Why are you doing this to me, Isabella?"

"Doing what?" I asked, watching as his eyes locked onto mine.

He didn't answer. Instead, he stood, wobbling slightly, and walked the small distance to me, shoving the bit of paper into my hands.

"That."

I looked at him as he turned from me, and then down to the paper in my hands. It wasn't paper, I realized, but a photo. I scanned the picture, the pit of my stomach tightening. I closed my eyes and let the photo fall from my hands and onto the floor.

"Why are you showing me that?" I whispered.

"Because I want to know why you won't let _me_ touch you like that, Bella," he said, running his hand through his hair and turning back to me. "Is this some kind of game? Because…because it _feels_ like it."

"It was five years ago, Edward. Things happened since then and…" I trailed off at his angry look when I opened my eyes.

"Are you still interested in him? In Newton?" Edward asked harshly, his voice rising slightly.

"What? No! Why are you asking me that?"

"Because, Isabella. I'm a bit of a drunk, jealous _asshole _in case you can't tell," he said, walking forward and reaching out for my wrist. "Don't you fucking dare lecture me about asking permission to touch you tonight! I'm much too irritated for that, Isabella."

He drew my body tight against his and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"It seems like we have more going against us than for us. I want something from you, Bella. I'm not leaving until you give it to me."

"Edward," I murmured, looking into his eyes. "Please don't ask me for an explanation. There are things I _can't_ tell anyone, not even you."

"Isabella," he said grabbing my chin in his hand. "Is it really that _bad_?"

I bit my lip and nodded.

Edward groaned and pulled my lip free.

"Don't do that. You know how it makes me feel. Isabella," He closed his eyes and half-shook his head. "I wouldn't ask you to tell me anything you find uncomfortable. But, that doesn't mean you can't tell me why you find exceptions in _my_ touches," he said, opening his eyes and watching my face intently. "Please, Bella. I'm practically _begging_ you to give me some clue, here."

I could feel the stinging in the back of my eyes as the memories flooded to the forefront of my mind, the icy, prickling of the sensitivity of what had happened to me. This was the conversation I was dreading having with anyone other than Rose, who had walked in on the assault.

"Edward, I think we should talk about this when you're a little more _together_. You're wobbly and you reek of alcohol," I said, trying to loosen his grip on my wrist. "I have finals in the morning, too."

I turned away from him, but he yanked me back against him hard, his eyes angry and uncomprehending as his eyes narrowed at me.

"I think I'm sober enough to hear why you won't let me put my hands on you! _Goddamn_ it, Bella! This fucking picture," he shouted, bending down to retrieve the discarded photo, and then straightening and shoving it in my face, "makes me _insane_. What is the fucking difference between then and now? What is the big fucking deal with you and your rules? Obviously, it has to be something to do with _me_, because it seems like _Mike-fucking-Newton_ is having an awesome fucking time touching you there!" He jabbed the photo with the index finger of the hand attached to my wrist.

"Edward-" I started, but was interrupted.

"As far as Angie is concerned, what happened last night was a fucking _show_! I hate—no _fucking _hate—her to pieces. The vengeful bitch has an obsession with me because of the things that happened in my past. She wants to blackmail me if I don't fuck her now and then. I fucked her on the night of the first time you walked in my studio, but the whole time, I was imagining that it was _you_ I was fucking, which made it a whole lot fucking bearable than thinking of her cold, used face," he said, palming my chin to make sure I maintained eye contact. "No, _listen_, Bella," he commanded when I fought against his gaze. "There is _nothing_ there with her. No feelings, no love, _nothing_. The only person I love is standing right in _front _of me, but she refuses to let me _touch_ her enough to _show_ her!"

"I can't, Edward," I whispered. "I'm trying, I am. But there are things I want to bury and forget. If you knew the pain and shame I feel, both because you can't do normal things you would do with someone you love, and because I can't even bring myself to relive the darkness of what started all this for me enough to tell you."

"We both have things we can't tell each other, Bella." His tone and expression softened. "All I'm asking for is a chance to show you how I feel about you. Kissing you and dancing with you…fuck, Bella, it's not enough," he said, letting my chin go and using his free hand to cup my cheek.

"Time, Edward. Please," I murmured. "It has nothing to do with you. It's me. I'm not completely pure," I said, closing my eyes and fighting back the tears that threatened to expose me.

When there was a long pause, I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, his eyes hard, and his expression equaling the hardness and intensity. He looked utterly dangerous as he stared at me, his teeth grinding and his grip on my wrist tightening.

"Edward, what-"

"What do you mean by 'I'm not completely pure?" Did something happen to you, Isabella? Did someone do something to you?" he shouted at me, pulling on my wrist hard, pressing my body against his.

"What do you mean?" I said, wincing at the pressure at my wrist and lowering my gaze to his clasped fingers.

"Did somebody fucking touch you when you didn't want to be touched?" he yelled. "ANSWER ME!" he roared at my stunned silence.

My eyes slowly lifted to lock into his. I could feel the rage coming off of him as I opened my mouth to answer him.

"Tell me that's not the reason for all of this? Please tell me it's because you have some kind of anxiety disorder or something?" Edward practically begged, his body shaking slightly in agitation. "Your silence is scaring the shit out of me, Bella. Tell me."

There was a split second to decide what was in the best interest for me. The truth was not an option I would even consider. A lie, if it came out, could possibly destroy anything the truth would have repaired or kept intact. There was a stalemate, and I was stuck right in the middle of the fucker. Edward had come here out of jealousy and irritation, and I didn't think he could handle the truth of the situation. Would he think less of me if I told him that Mike Newton, the person in the photograph, had assaulted me in a darkened studio four years ago, slipping his finger into the apex of my body, curving his fingers as he stretched me and filled me until I screamed?

At the vivid memory, I closed my eyes and felt the tears slide down my cheeks, unable to hold them in. Shame and repulsion overwhelmed me as I felt my body quake. I felt a warm hand lift my chin.

"Bella, open your eyes and look at me," Edward commanded softly.

I opened my eyes slowly, my vision blurring with the tears that brimmed to the surface of my eyes.

"Did somebody do something to you, Isabella?" he asked calmly, reaching up to wipe the tears from my eyes. "I won't think any less of you, Bella. It's not your fault, baby."

"No," I lied softly. "It wasn't anything like that."

Choice made….

* * *

-(*)-

*A_N_G_E_L_A*

My shoes scraped across the floor, stepping lightly in the darkness. I looked around, and was glad that nobody seemed to be here. I flipped on the studio light and walked over to the stool, sitting down and sighing. I would wait here until Edward came in, which, judging by the fact that the art show was tomorrow, and I knew his routine well, would be soon. He usually worked all night to get everything ready, usually adding touches to his piece. I scanned the room, and did not see anything that looked recent. Not even on his easel. On the kiln laid a canvas, but it looked as if it had seen better days.

Curious, I stood and walked over to the kiln and lifted the canvas. The surface was obliterated, the paint completely white, and a few holes in the canvas gave the painting an even more decrepit look. I picked up the opus and flipped it to look at the back; the wooden frame was still in decent shape, and faintly, in Edward's scribbled handwriting, was a single word: _Bella._

"Good portrait of her," I commented. "Bitch."

I slammed the canvas down onto the kiln, bleached out part down. The air from the canvas smacking against the kiln caused some of the render sketches to fall onto the floor.

"Shit," I muttered, bending down to pick up the papers.

I reached under the table in front of me to pick up what I thought was another render sketching. It was upside down, so I flipped it over and realized that it was not a render sketching, but a photograph of some kind. I looked closely at the two figures that were dancing very close together, and, at first, didn't see anything odd. But, as I brought the picture closer to my eyes, I saw that it was Bella. Not only did I recognize her, but also her partner.

Michael Newton.

I knew Michael quite well, as he was always at Charlie's gatherings and studio openings. But there was something much more familiar about the picture than just two people dancing. I had seen both of them together before.

"_Where_, oh, _where_?" I asked myself, tapping the photo against my lips.

It came to me then as I brought the picture from my lips and looked at it once more. I had seen those two, and now I remembered where.

Four years ago, when I opened the door to a woman pleading for help, and didn't do anything immediate to stop it, it was Isabella Swan and Michael Newton.

Edward had no idea of the implications of this revelation. He had no idea that what we both knew, what dirty _secret_ we both hid, involved the person he had chosen over me. The woman he had clearly fallen in love with was the girl in that room. The same woman who I tried to help that night by telling Edward what I _saw_, what I _knew._

The same woman whom he _chose_ not to help in favor of the prestigious award that helped him to climb up to opening his own was just as responsible as I was for what happened to her. He had stopped the one thing that would keep me from opening my mouth about what I knew. And now, with this revelation of _who_ exactly had been the one pleading for help that night, I held him in my hands like a puppet.

I folded the photo and placed it in my jean's pocket, smiling. I walked across the studio and flicked the light back off and shut the studio door.

And I would control that puppet to my advantage.

Isabella Swan would be eradicated from the equation, and Edward would be _mine _again.

Perhaps going to the Art Show alone wouldn't be a bad thing….

…because I wouldn't be going _home_ the same way…

* * *

…_Feels a lot like suicide__, __Slow and sad, grown inside us…_

_

* * *

Lots of interesting things in this…What happened that Edward had to cancel, was a crisis involving the portrait he planned to use at the art show. So now what is he going to do? Then we have Bella lying to a drunk, jealous Edward about the assault, and over-top of that, Angie has put the pieces together now, which gives her extra leverage…hmmm…Do you think Angie will tell Bella?_

_-See ya in a bit!_


	7. What A Wicked Game We Play

A/N:

* Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans! Let us give thanks for Robward, dirty porn filled Fanfics and the ability to imagine all the dirty fucking these stories hold, and keeping both hands on the keyboard even though we clearly let our hand wander southward till we catch ourselves...

*This chapter is...interesting...*evil laugh*

*Thanks for Rec. this story. However, I have lost readers. If it continues, this story WILL BE DUMPED.

*Thank you, Susie...For everything. This chapter is for you my fucking amazing Beta, you!

* * *

WHAT A WICKED GAME WE PLAY

7.

*RATED _NC-17_ *

The world was on fire,  
and, no one could save me but you.  
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.  
And I never dreamed that I'd need somebody like you.  
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.

No, I don't want to fall in love  
[This world is only gonna break your heart]  
No, I don't want to fall in love  
[This world is only gonna break your heart]  
With you  
[This world is only gonna break your heart]

* * *

-(*)-

*E_D_W_A_R_D*

_**-(*)-**_

"_You're going to keep quiet about it, Angie. Goddamn it, why does this have to happen now?" I ran my hand through my hair and squeezed the index cards in my hands. "They are probably in there making out or something, Ang."_

"_Edward," Angie said, wringing her hands and closing her eyes. "She begged me for help, Edward."_

"_Well, you are not helping anyone, right now. You are not going to wreck this for me, Angela. I've come too far for this to be fucked up by something that probably is nothing, anyway!" I told her harshly, loosening her hands free from each other and pulling her chin up._

_She opened her eyes at my touch, which showed the reflection of tears._

"_Please, Angie. I'm sure it's nothing. If it is anything like that, somebody will come along and stop it. This is my night! I need you to know how much this means to me," I coaxed her, smiling to reassure her that this was the right thing to do._

_She looked at me for a long moment, and then nodded slowly._

"_You're right. It's probably someone playing a joke," she said, casting a look over her shoulder toward the rooms in the back. "A very unfunny joke."_

"_Now," Charlie Swan said into the podium. "Our distinguished honoree tonight, Edward Masen, would like to say a few words. Edward," Charlie addressed me, motioning to the microphone._

_I smiled at Angie, then turned to Charlie and headed onto the stage, my index cards in my hands. Charlie put his hand out for me to shake, and I took it, returning the firm pressure._

"_Congratulations, Son. Well done!" he said, letting my hand go and moving aside for me to step to the microphone._

"_Thank you, Mr. Swan. This award," I started, looking out into the crowd of people gathered in the vast lobby, "is what I have been waiting for my entire profession. Not only is it the key to my future as an artist, it is also the signature of the next level of artistry. I am proud to announce, that this award will be posted in the lobby of my new studio, Luck of the Draw!"_

_I waited for the crowd's applause to die down before I started again._

"_I want to thank Mr. Swan for his belief in me, and for the nomination. Thank you to all who have recommended my work and have contributed to this evening's festivity. Thank you!"_

_I walked away from the mic, and was shaking Mr. Swan's hand again, when a blood curdling scream echoed into the lobby, the voice filled with panic._

"_BELLA?" Charlie Swan roared as a figure came running from the back…._

I sat straight up in bed, the sweat gathering and rolling down my face as I struggled to maintain proper breathing. I raked my hand through my wet, sticky hair and exhaled sharply. My head was pounding, and I felt as if I had been riding way to many rollercoasters all at one time.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered softly. "I gotta stop dreaming that shit."

I looked down at myself and pulled the comforter off of my legs. How the hell had I gotten into bed? I didn't remember much, but I knew I didn't take my own clothes off, all the way down to my boxers, and hop in bed. I turned to the nightstand beside the bed and nearly growled. The red LCD numbers flashed 2:35 am. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, ran my hand over my face, and stood.

"Oh, shit," I muttered, feeling the room spin and blur. "This can't be a good sign."

After steadying myself, I walked to the end of the bed and picked up my jeans and put them on, followed by my black shirt. As I slipped the shirt over my head, I got a whiff of a sweet scent. I lifted the inside of the shirt to my nose and inhaled the smell, letting it drown out the pounding in my head, and the blurring of reality around me. I knew the smell, which was orchid and a bit of paint mixed in.

"Bella," I whispered, letting the shirt go.

I walked to the light switch on the wall, and flicked it on. Scanning the room, especially the bed, and not seeing her, I groaned and flicked it back off.

"Damn!" I exclaimed. "Not that lucky, huh?" I said, tapping the crotch of my pants and laughing. "You're losing it, Masen."

I exited my room and headed down to the bathroom to get a few Tylenol from the medicine cabinet, popped them into my mouth and swallowed them without water. I padded my bare feet into the hall and down the stairs to the studio. If I was up, I may as well try to concentrate on what I was going to be showing the public later today. I knew I had no time to paint another painting, so it was time to rethink…

At least, if this headache stopped pounding long enough.

I was just about to open my studio door, when the sound of faint music echoed from the break room.

"What the _fuck_?" I muttered, turning toward the sound and following it until I was outside the break room, where the lights were on.

Inside, Emmett, whose back was facing away from me, was flipping a sandwich out of the small sandwich maker on the counter. The radio, perched on top of the refrigerator, was belting out a _REO Speedwagon_ tune.

"Emmett, what the hell are you doing here?" I asked loudly, scaring him and causing Em to drop the sandwich he was transferring onto the tiled floor.

"Aww, come on, Ed! First, my goddamn cookies, and now my grilled queso! You bastard," he said, reaching down and picking it up from the floor and placing it on the plate. "Good news is that wasn't _mine_. Bad news is it's _yours_."

"Turn the fucking radio _off_, Emmett," I muttered, placing my head in my hands and groaning. "Fucking soft rock shit."

"…_And I can't fight this feeling anymorreeeeee…"_ Emmett sung loudly, reaching over to turn the radio up even louder. "I love this song so fuckin' much."

I reached over to the plug in which the radio was getting its power, and yanked the cord out, causing the radio to fall off the fridge and onto the floor with a crack. Emmett's eyes narrowed.

"Either you're not a REO fan, or you are one _destructive _son-of-a-bitch," Emmett said, flopping the plate down in front of me. "Enjoy your floor cheese."

"You still didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

I pushed the plate away and leaned my elbows on the table. Emmett sat down across from me, munching on the corner of his freshly made sandwich and shrugged.

"You got drunk, you stupid ass. For the sake of it, let me tell you that you are also a jealous, mind-fucked man," he narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Bella called me to pick your ass up."

"Bella called you?" I asked, my eyes widening in surprise. "Wait…you have to fill me in on all this, Em."

"You don't remember?" he raised his eyebrow at me, swallowing the sandwich section in his mouth. "You're a lot more fucked up than I thought. Incidentally, you are an asshole for throwing up on my leather seats. Now my car will reek for weeks!"

"I can't remember much. I remember bits and pieces." I shrugged. "I remember the jealousy part," I added with shame. "Your car is a piece of shit, Emmett. My throw up made an improvement, trust me."

"Well, _envy-Eddy_, she called me. Well, she called the _shop_, and said that you were 'inebriated out of your mind'- _her _words, not _mine_-and to come pick you up, that you were sitting on her couch falling asleep." Em smiled, leaning back in the chair and taking another bite. "And, fuck you about my car," he added, swallowing.

"Wipe that smug look off your face, Emmett. What did she say when you showed up?" I asked. "And I didn't _piss _myself, did I?"

Last time I got drunk, I pissed my pants, effectively warding off female attention, which giggled and nodded to my saturated dick cover. I groaned just at the thought, and I knew Em was waiting to burst out laughing at me.

He didn't, as his face was suddenly serious.

"She was really upset about it, actually. Not pissing your pants, but that would have been hilarious. No, she just seemed oddly quiet." He shrugged. "I can't explain it, Edward."

"Well, what did she say when she wasn't 'oddly quiet?'"

"She said you yelled at her about this," he said, reaching into his jeans pocket, pulled out something and passed it over the table.

I picked it up, realizing it was the photo of her and Mike that I had resented enough to get drunk over. My eyes lifted away from the photo, and I flipped it upside down on the table.

"Fuck," I whispered, closing my eyes. "I'm such a fucking _asshole_!"

"Don't look at me to object to your little epiphany. I agree," Em said. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, and then sighed. "She's in _love_ with you, you dope. Why are you fucking things up with this?" He pointed to the picture. "And the fact you resent it that you can't touch her without her freaking out."

"She told you that? That she's in love with me?"

"She didn't have to, Edward. I could see it written all over her face when she helped me get you in my car," he replied, leaning forward again. "By the way, you told her I was an idiot, but _I _know more about her feelings than _you_ do, and you're in love with her, thus making _you_ the idiot."

"I yelled at her," I said, running my hand through my hair. "She probably thinks I'm a scumbag now."

"She would be right, but I really don't think so. She was more concerned that you wouldn't make it home."

"So?"

"So? Women are vindictive creatures, Edward. If she thought you were a jealous, alcohol-induced _idiot_, she wouldn't have called me to pick your ass up. She would have gladly made you _wobble _home," Emmett smiled, shaking his head.

"Did she say anything before you drove me home and played house with my intoxicated body?" I wiggled my eyes suggestively at him. "My boxers were the only thing on, Emmett…"

"Ew. I'm your brother, not your _cousin-daddy-uncle-in-law_," he said, shivering at the mental picture. "She said she had finals in the morning, and that she needed sleep. She also told me to tell you that she will call you and tell you how it went," Emmett added, finishing off his grilled cheese.

"Fuck!" I shouted, hitting my palm against my pounding head "Ouch!"

"Dumb ass."

"Her finals are tomorrow, and I just wasted her time that she could have been studying!" I groaned.

Emmett remained silent for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

"What?"

"She told me you told her about Angie…and 'fucking her' because she's blackmailing you about something," Emmett said slowly, trying hard not to meet my gaze. "Is this true, Edward? Are you fucking her because she has something against you?"

I met his gaze and nodded. "Do you really think I'd fuck her for the _pleasure _of it? She's like an automatic erection killer when she walks into the fucking room, and I told Bella that. Jesus Christ," I moaned rubbing my eyes roughly.

"What does Ang have against you, Edward? Why do you feel the need to wreck the chick?" he asked.

"Em, no offense, but you would never understand it. And, for the record, I no longer wish to _fuck_ her. But Angie isn't finished here, Emmett. You know that. Bella isn't going to give me chances anymore. I was drunk and, by your account, verbally abusive to her. Right there is a strike," I sighed, slumping down in the seat.

Emmett sighed, and then looked at me seriously, his eyes reflecting understanding.

"Edward?" he asked.

"What?"

"Whatever shit you are in, if you care an _ounce_ about her, you will end it. I'm not just talking about the Angie stuff. You have to be smarter than this. You can lie to me, and pretend I am just an idiot and won't understand, but I can bet that she won't want to hear that shit when it finally _does _come out," he said, sighing and slumping back in his seat.

I was silent a moment, and then I nodded. "I know," I whispered.

"Good. Now that I said all _I_ had to say, I just have one more question…" He trailed off.

"No, you can't undress me again," I laughed. "No, _seriously_."

"Ha-ha, you amuse me," he said, mocking a laugh. "Mind if I eat that?" He pointed to the sandwich he dropped earlier.

"Ew, Emmett. Just…._ew_."

"Five second rule!" he said, reaching for the plate, grabbing the sandwich and taking a bite. "Still good!"

I shook my head and got up from the table, my head spinning slightly.

"Where are you going?"

"To take a shower. Again, you _can't _join me, Emmett," I laughed, walking from the lounge area. "Enjoy your shit cheese. I hope you know Mrs. Stanley's evil pussy cat shit there the other day. Enjoy!" I said, laughing, as Emmett began to spit out the grilled cheese.

I stopped halfway down the dark hall, and slipped my hand into the pocket of my jeans, pulling out the photo I had discreetly slipped off the table earlier; the picture of Bella and Mike. I positioned myself in the small shaft of light coming from the lounge, and tore the photo in half. I discarded the half bearing Mike onto the floor, and kept the part with Bella, tucking it back into my pocket.

A few minutes later, I was stepping under the hot water of the shower, letting it run over my head to soothe the aching, dull pain. I sighed as I stood there, my muscles seemingly relaxing with the slight pressure of the water. I thought back to what I could remember from earlier, the bits and spots lacing my mind like a tourniquet. I could remember only small parts, like telling her I resented her hesitation in my advances to touch her, and also, though something about it seemed off, her assurance that her…_problem_ had nothing to do with anything related to something happening to her. I trusted her completely, hell, I was fucking _fawning _over her, and so I didn't really question her at all.

Emmett had said she told him I was yelling at her. I never would have done that if I had not been drunk and stupidly jealous. The fact that I couldn't remember all I said to her bothered me. All I wanted, really, was to tell her about what had happened with Angie, and what will never happen with her again. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize Bella behind the darkened state of my eyelids. It wasn't hard, since she was in nearly every waking dream and daydream these days. I just wanted to see her again, all her beautiful features and immaculate milky skin.

I could see the full lips; the bottom lip slightly larger than the top, and her eyes, which nearly always reflected innocence and warmth. I groaned mentally as my mind drew a straight line down the skin of her milky throat, and to the swell of her breasts. They were not large, but this didn't entice me away from wanting to feel them. I could feel the slight extraction my hard cock made as my imagery of her continued.

"Fuck," I muttered, placing my forehead against the shower wall as my balls throbbed, sending signals to my mind that I had to take care of this if I didn't want to wear a _dick-tent_ integrated with my pants. I had to _whack-the-weasel, clear the pipes, wrench the monkey_…

As the exploration of her body enthralled me, and my mind wandered down her flat belly to the small V between her legs, the will in me broke.

"Shit," I murmured, reaching down to take my hard dick in my hand, feeling the slippery, warm velvet of the head in my palm. The sensation of my fingers on my own hard cock made the tightening of my balls shoot fire upward, its warmth enticing me further, filling my belly and causing the aching need to become more intense.

I took my index and middle finger on the top, and my thumb on the bottom, and lightly stoked downward, grunting at the feel of it as I imagined her without her clothing. As I imagined the possibilities of what her pubic region looked like, and what it would look like with my fingers buried deep into her folds, her warm juices flowing over my fingers, I glided my way back up the slippery, pulsating hardness and groaned out loud as my fingers grazed the sensitive head. I passed up and down the length several times before the sensation of the frictional pulling became too strong. I took my thumb and pressed lightly into the velvety head, the slight touch echoing down my hard shaft and into my already tight and twitching ball sac.

"_Fuuuucckkkk,_" I breathed as the wet tip of my cock pulsated twice before the release squirted against the shower wall and washed down the drain. "Ah, fuck," I grinded from between my teeth. I had bitten down on my lip, causing a bit of blood to seep. Tasting the iron of my blood in my mouth, I let go of my now soft penis, and put my hands on either side of my head, which still rested on the shower wall. My breathing began to slow into normal breaths, and my eyes opened lazily. The sexual tension that built up was insatiable now. The power of the orgasm with just the visual of her excited me beyond words. I turned, and pressed my back against the wall and closed my eyes once again.

"What are you _doing_ to me?" I whispered to myself as the water pounded around me.

I opened my eyes and looked over at the commode, where I had rid my clothing, and spied my jeans. I turned and reached over, diving into its pocket to retrieve the photo of Bella. As the water fell over the picture, I lifted my hand and stroked photographed Bella's hair and smiled.

"I _love_ what you do to me," I whispered, still feeling the lingering of the orgasm. "Love it…I want _more_."

-(*)-

*B_E_L_L_A*

What a wicked game to play;  
To make me feel this way.  
What a wicked thing to do;  
To let me dream of you.  
What a wicked thing to say;  
You never felt this way.  
What a wicked thing to do;  
To make me dream of you.

And I don't want to fall in love  
[This world is only gonna break your heart]  
And I don't want to fall in love  
[This world is only gonna break your heart]  
With you

_**-(*)-**_

I looked down at the box and frowned. Phil had given it to me as soon as I walked in. It was white and the size of a small cigar box. Looking at the clock above the room's only door, I sighed and lowered my gaze back to the box. I had five minutes before finals started, and although I was both exhausted and nervous, I could not wait for this day to be over. Charlie Swan's failure of a daughter would be flunked, and the proud, jubilant artist would pretend he didn't have a daughter who sucked ass at art; a perpetual waste of sperm.

I reached my hands out to lift the small lid, taking care not to crack the delicate wood as I sat it beside the box on the easel ledge. I pushed back the white tissue paper that flowed languidly from it, and gasped at what was inside.

"It's beautiful," I murmured softly, lifting the item from the box and stroking it.

In my hands was a high end, very expensive artist's watercolor brush. The white oak of the handle was hand-carved, the words embossed with my name: _Isabella; _the gold ink filling each letter, clear down to the brass separator gleamed in the overhead lights, casting a light reflective shadow above it on the handle. The bristles, although they were not horse-haired, as I was used to, were of an imported material. I flipped it over and on the back, in small script, was a message from the one question I had:

_**Every color you paint becomes its own rainbow.**_

_**Edward**_

Edward had sent this? I looked inside the box to make sure there wasn't another note, but there was nothing else, the box was empty. The brush I was holding in my hands easily cost well over anything related to art that I currently owned!

"Put all your stuff away, except for what you are going to use for the exam," Phil's voice cut in my thoughts. "Clear your easels, too."

I contemplated using the brush, but thought against it and placed it back in the box, replacing the lid and slipping it into my bag on the floor. It was too much. I planned to give it back to him right after the bell rang. I was not about to except something that cost more than my fucking pricey watercolors!

I shook my head at the fact that I actually thought about using it! Edward would just have to deal with it, because I would be taking it back to his shop.

"Remember, you have one hour to complete a satisfactory painting, which highlights color rendering, ability and complexity. After the hour, you will be asked to stop and you will meet with Mr. Yorkie," He gestured to the man standing near the windows on the far right. "He will evaluate your work, and you will know right away if you have passed. Remember, your piece will not be completely dry, so there is some room for color opacity issues."

"I'm so going to fucking _fail_ this," I muttered under my breath. "Damn you, Edward."

_Damn, Edward?_ Oh, yes, because his lessons, during which you felt something for him, were a big, _huge_ bummer. Not to mention he taught you the color technique you plan to use? Right. His impromptu visit last night had shaken me, especially with having to lie to him. His closeness was something I did not expect, nor his jealous rant. I could smell the desire coming off of him; mixed in with the vodka and sweat. It laced my senses and made my own desires bubble. His dark eyes had told me exactly what he was thinking in his mind_: I want to fuck you, why won't you let me?_

When his chest was pushed against my breasts, there was an aching need there, but it was extinguished quickly; the fire between my legs burning out, leaving my desire in ashes. He was drunk, and obviously drunk men were often horny. Then, when he had nearly figured out what I desperately wanted to hide from him, the desire seemed to fizzle out in _his_ eyes, the flat gold lightening with reserved lust, but less intense than before. I frowned. If I had told him the truth that the facts he was thinking were right, he would never want to _touch_ me, or _fuck _me, or even be with me. His eyes had tried to hide that truth, but, in his drunken lack of coherency, he had let it show.

"You may begin, now," Phil said, slicing through my inner monologue.

I picked up my familiar brush, dabbed it into the open paint jar, and started, crossing my fingers while trying to put thoughts of Edward, last night, and the tragic shit in my life back behind my cerebellum.

With the first stroke, I muttered: "Here goes everything."

**-(*)-**

*E_D_W_A_R_D*

The world was on fire,  
No one could save me but you.  
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.  
And I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.  
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.

_-(*)-  
_

I opened the kiln and frowned. The pyrolysis I was attempting on the wood inside the tram-loading kiln to make charcoal for my conte chalk presses wasn't working up to the right temperature.

"Fuck you kiln," I muttered, slamming the lid back down and turning the dial that controlled the heat pressure up a notch. I aimed a kick at the drum and dented it. "Oh. How awesome… a dent!"

It was hot and muggy in the studio from the heat of the kiln, making my mood considerably worse than it should have been. Alice, Emmett and Jasper (whom Alice begged), had gone to the art show to help set up before the crowd gathered tonight. It was exceptionally quiet, and allowed me to get things I had been putting off for a while done.

I lifted a roll of paper from the floor and placed it on the empty spindle in front of the rack where the lamination and varnishing station stood. I grunted in frustration when there was a small knock on the closed studio door after the paper roll came down on my thumb, effectively smashing it.

"_Fuckinggoddamnmotherfucker_!" I yelled out the cursing stream with anger. "What the fuck do you want?" I yelled at the door. I immediately regretted yelling that, in case it was Bella. _Please don't be Bella…_

The door swung open and my eyes snapped firmly onto the person entering my shop. I groaned internally at the sight of them and turned around to realign the paper.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I seethed, hate drained from each word like honey.

"You—you told me to come back," Mike Newton replied, shuffling slowly further into the room.

"Right," I scoffed. "Forgot."

I turned to him and narrowed my eyes at him with utter loathing. I walked across the studio to him and looked him in the eyes.

"First, if I _ever-_-and when I say _'ever,'_ I mean as long as I live-hear you call Bella anything close to what you did yesterday, you will be wearing your balls as a cleft chin when I'm done kicking them, alright?" Mike gulped and nodded. "Second, you are going to sit down and tell me the truth about you and Bella. This 'didn't talk much' bullshit stops. There are pictures, and I want you to tell me about them."

"But…" he started, but trailed off after seeing the look on my face. "Fine."

"You're learning, Newt. Start talking," I smiled, crossing my arms.

"I used to date Bella, but it wasn't for very long," he admitted shaking his head. "Maybe two months? It was four years ago. I haven't seen her in a long time. After we broke up, she disappeared, and I haven't really talked to her much after she dumped me." Mike shrugged, his face pale.

"Why did you call her a skank? Did you want to make yourself feel better about being dumped by a girl? Huh?"

"No, it wasn't like that!" He hesitated, his eyes falling from my intense gaze. "She just liked to mess around in the dark rooms with her boyfriends," he explained.

I scoffed and unfolded my arms. I felt myself laughing slightly at his words.

"Are we talking about the same Isabella Swan? The Bella _I_ know doesn't let anything come close to that, Newt."

"Well, I can only tell you what others have said, along with my own experience," Mike replied stiffly. "I don't know what her problem is with you, but she didn't have that when we were together." He smiled at some deep driven memory.

"Wipe the smile off your face, you bastard!" I said sharply, although my curiosity was getting the best of me. "What do you mean? She let you touch her then?"

He half-smiled, and then quickly dropped it. "Yeah, she let me touch her. I made it into a game."

"Game? What the hell are you on about?"

"You make it into a game, and she will melt like Jell-O in the stove," Mike smiled, shrugging. "You have to take charge with Bella, because she won't do any of the work on her own. You make the rules, you do the dice rolling."

"Hmm, you've proven yourself as more than just a stupid asshole. Congratulations," I smiled at him, and then dropped it to narrow my eyes at him. "I still hate your guts, though, so if I were you, I'd leave now."

"Should I…?"

"Come in anyway. I'm sure Alice has some kind of crap for you to clean," I told him. "Maybe she'll get lucky and find you some more cat shit or something to clean. Now, get out of my studio before I use this kiln to melt off your face."

He didn't reply as he silently walked from the studio. I hadn't expected his answer, that's for sure, but it seemed to be logical. I didn't like the way he smirked as he said it, but hell, if it were me remembering an intimate moment with Bella, I'd smile wide, too. Dice rolling and rule making…

_That would be one wicked game!_ I thought to myself, as the kiln signaled that it was done. I walked over to it and shut it off. I walked back over to the table that held the paints and opened the jar lids, having every intention of getting Mrs. Stanley's portrait finished. It was due this morning, but still needed those fine touches to her evil pussy. I really did hope her cat shit somewhere. That would teach figgy-Newton to call Bella names.

I had just dipped the brush into the brown when a slight knock on the door sounded. I didn't look behind me. Instead, I rolled my eyes and sighed.

"What did I tell you about hating your guts you putrid little fu-" I spun around and trailed off when I saw that it wasn't fig-Newton. "Bella! Emmett said you would call…I'm sorry."

"No, no. I was supposed to call, but I had to come over here in person," she said, her eyes locking with mine as she moved gracefully forward. "This is too much, Edward, and I can't accept it."

She held out a small white box that she pulled from her bag. My eyes did not wander from hers as I grabbed the box from her. I looked down at the box and shook it, then looked back to met her gaze.

"What's this?" I said, lifting the box in front of her eyes. "What's in it?"

"The brush you sent me, Edward. Didn't you send it to me? Your name is on the back…" She trailed off at my puzzled look.

My puzzled expression melted into understanding then. "Alice."

"Alice?" she repeated.

"I asked Alice to help me do something that said I was sorry for…well, everything," I shoved the box gently back into her hands and gazed at her. "I still need that apology to be accepted, Bella."

"Edward, please. You don't need me to accept anything. I don't hold anything, other than the fact that you were drunk, against you. Besides, with finals and all, I nearly forgot about last night," she said, her eyes darting against my gaze.

"Your eyes lie, Isabella. Your unwillingness to look me in the eyes when you said that gives you away. The finals…how did you do?" I asked, trying not to sound too over-excited, which I believed I failed in. "Did you pass?"

Her smile flashed across her face with such enthusiasm that I thought her face would crack. "I passed!" she squealed happily.

"I _knew _you could do it, Bella!" I exclaimed happily. "You see? You _do_ have the art gene!"

"I couldn't have done it without your help, Edward! You have no idea how thankful I am to you for the lessons." She smiled at me.

In a split decision, I reached out and gripped her waist and slid her against me gently. A gasp escaped her mouth, and her eyes widened as they met mine. I smiled down at her and brought my other hand to intertwine into her hair.

"You are way too modest. It's really a bummer," I winked at her, lowering my face to hers, leaving a few inches between. "Do you know how beautiful you are when you smile? It feels like a hundred years since it ravaged your face," I whispered, my breath hitting her in the face.

"Edward, I can't do this," she murmured, closing her eyes. I could feel her tremble slightly, and the happiness she felt earlier melted away into seclusion. "We can't do this."

"Isabella, open your eyes and look at me," I commanded softly, removing my hand from her hair to raise her chin. She opened her eyes and sighed deeply.

"I only want to kiss you; that is if that is all you can handle. But, for what it's worth, I would love for you to scream my name, drench yourself on me, and be one with me," I told her in pure honestly.

I watched her eyes as they flickered and intensified. Her will was crumbling in little bits inside, tumbling forward to the front of her pupils, enlarging them and making them bright. I brought my mouth to her ear and whispered slowly and roughly.

"I can smell the desire on you, Isabella. I can hear your heart pounding and your blood rushing, I can feel you tremble when I touch you, Bella. The desire you're holding back has to be nearly too much for you."

"But I can't, Edward. I want to, too. But it's not easy for me," she whispered. "Please."

"Goddamn it, Bella," I yelled out loud. I was hard again, and I was not whacking off this time. At least, not without her help.

"I'm sorry, Edward. We went through this last night," she muttered.

"There's a problem with that, Bella. One, I can't remember much of last night except I woke up without you in my bed, which was a huge fucking letdown, and, two, I just don't fucking care anymore."

"Edward…" She shook her head at me. "Please just let this go."

I, however, didn't give in. Instead, I reached down to pick her up by the waist. She gasped at the sudden movement and wrapped her legs around my hips in natural reaction, digging her shoe heels into my ass. I scraped my teeth across her milky throat, and then across the sensitive skin that connected her throat to her collarbone.

"Edward…" she sighed, dropping the box onto the floor beside her and wrapping her hands around my neck. She lifted her neck as I nibbled wildly at the smoothness with my lips and teeth.

She had given in easily to her desire, her will crumbled completely like a wall falling down around us. Her breathy moans made my pants a little tight as I made my way back to her mouth, spreading baby kisses as my hand stroked the sensitive skin at the small of her back.

"I'm in control, Bella, let me do this," I told her breathlessly, taking her mouth with mine, my tongue seeking permission, and her granting it.

I quickly rid myself of my own clothing, my hard dick painfully pressing against my jeans as they fell to my feet. I pressed Bella against the wall for support as I shed my boxers, leaving my lower body naked and wanting as her warmth flashed across my skin in desperate heat. My shirt was trickier. I put Bella down a moment and quickly threw my shirt off and threw it to the floor, and then turned back to her, lifting her once more, feeling her shoes dig into the muscles of my ass.

I turned, and stumbled backward further into the studio, until I felt the table that held the paints jab me in the back. Roughly and languidly, I turned and crashed Bella violently onto the table, sending the paint jars tipping over in all directions. I lifted my knee onto the table so that I was halfway on top of her, kissing and licking her mouth as I reached down for the buttons of her jeans.

Her hand reached down to join mine, and I thought she was going to push them away, but to my surprise, she began to help.

"My shoes…" she murmured.

I reached down with two swift movements; her shoes flew across the room and landed with a thud to the floor as I threw them.

"Edward," she moaned.

The moan was so fucking sexy that I had to hurry. I reached around her waist, and she lifted her hips so that I could rid her of her jeans. I looked down at her panties and smiled.

"Lace… I bet they were expensive," I smiled, reaching down and ripping them from her body in one quick movement. "Oops."

I dragged my face down her flat stomach, stopping every inch or so to lick and bite the sensitive skin. I could feel the coarse public patch on my face as I slowly retracted off the table and knelt on the floor, pulling Bella by her ass forward so that the back of her knees were resting on my shoulders.

I spread her legs wider, opening her for me, and I could hear her breathing speed up and her body tremble with need and a burning fire. I looked up at her from between her legs and smiled.

"Your wet and ready, Isabella," I told her, teasing her inner thigh with a finger. "Slick. Very slick."

"Yes," she moaned, arching at the sensation.

I dragged my finger over the hot, wet core of her body with deliberate strokes, pushing in her sex just enough to make her moan breathily. I twisted my index finger slightly and could feel her walls contract around it.

"Like that?" I asked her, pressing a second finger into her slick folds.

"Oh, yes, oh," she replied, her feet digging into the tops of my shoulders with painful pressure.

I smiled as I watched her arch off the table, making the angle and rhythm of my fingers deeper with each powerful plunge inside her. My thumb reached up to gently rub the throbbing nub of her clit, causing her moans to become louder.

"I love how you moan, Isabella. It makes me so hard," I told her, extracting my fingers from her swollen sex much to her displeasure. "Relax, Bella."

I dipped my head between her thighs, spreading her pink fleshy lips apart, my tongue darting forward to lap at her hot sex, keeping it flat and flicking her already throbbing clit as I made my way back down her wet, slick folds. Her body contracted violently as I sipped her, drinking her juices with loud slapping and slurping sounds.

"Please," she begged, arching up and reaching into my hair and pulling my face closer to her center. "Please."

Using my fingers, I spread her folds even wider as my tongue torturously lapped at the wetness she expelled. She tasted sweet and delicious. I could feel her legs wobble slightly, and I reached up to gently pry her hand away from my hair.

"Isabella, do you like games?" I asked her, climbing back onto the table and straddling her, making sure my weight was balanced by the table. "You see, I _love _games."

"Mm-hmm," she moaned, looking into my eyes. "What kind of game do you have in mind?"

_So she did like to play games. This would be a game that made sure everyone was a winner._

"Sit up, Isabella," I commanded softly.

Bella rose and I bent in to kiss her slowly, reaching my hand to the hem of her shirt and lifting it.

"Lift your arms."

She lifted them and I tugged it the rest of the way off, leaving her in just her bra. I smiled at her and kissed her again.

"_You_," I punctuated the word with a kiss down her throat, "_will,_" down her collarbone, "_love_," down in between her soft breasts, "_this game_," I finished, reaching up with my hand to pinch the pink bud that silhouetted from the cotton of her bra. It puckered and she moaned.

I reached my hand under each breast and pushed the bra upward, pushing her milky white mounds from their cotton prison. Bella stretched her arms over her head for me to completely rid her of the bra and any clothing. She was gloriously and beautifully naked on the table. I bent down and took her warm nipple in my mouth, sucking and biting it, the pressure making Bella squirm.

"Hurry," she whispered. "Please."

"Begging is against the rules, Bella. The prize is really awesome though. You get to come with me, Isabella. We both win," I smiled against her breast as my hand slowly found its way back down to her heat.

I cupped her, rubbing slowly until I knew she was ready for my game. I lifted myself up so that my hard cock was resting on her right thigh, and bent over to my right, sticking my right hand in the sticky, oily paint that had spilled all over the table.

"Edward, what…?" Bella questioned, watching me contently as I brought the dripping palm over her body.

"Shh. Right hand blue," I said, pressing the blue palm over her right breast, taking my fingers and squeezing her hard, feeling the paint under my nails and over her fleshy nub. I bent down to kiss the tit. I could feel the blue paint transfer to my face and lips.

"Kinky," Bella whispered desperately.

I bent to kiss her lips, transferring the paint to her face and whispered, "I know," against them.

"Left hand," I said, bending over to dip my hand into the paint color, "red."

Again, just as with the blue, I pressed my left hand down onto her left breast, the red smearing and splattering as I bent down, and this time, took her nipple into my teeth and nibbled slightly.

"Fuck, Edward," Bella muttered, rocking her hips upward, causing painful friction with my hard member.

I bent down to kiss her neck and whisper in her ear.

"I'm not done yet, Isabella. We are far from the finish line."

I reached over onto the table and grabbed the nearest brush that I could find.

"Art is all about being creative, Bella. I want you to be my Mona Lisa," I told her, reaching to dip the brush into the black paint that spilled near my right hip. "I want to create with you…on you."

I pressed the brush in between her breasts and dragged it slowly downward.

"Center of your body black," I said, stopping the stroke at her navel. "This game is wicked fun, isn't it, Isabella? Do you like this game?"

She nodded and I smiled. "Good."

I began the stroke where I had ended it, swirling the bristles against her deliciously wet lips, watching in torrid fascination as the paint mixed with the soft brown pubic hair. I watched the black trickle downward, down past her thighs and under her knees where it disappeared.

"You're a dirty canvas, Isabella," I teased, running the handle of the brush past her sensitive slit as I made my way back to her face. "I think it's really unfair that I'm so clean, and you are so filthy," I finished, kissing her eyelids, which left a mix of red and blue on each.

"Fuck me, Edward," she whimpered, pulling her chin up to reach my lips. "_Do it_!"

"No begging, Bella." I half smiled. "What brought this change, Isabella? Before, I could never do this." I reached down with one painted finger and rubbed the soft, swollen, throbbing bud at the top of her opening, the slight circles causing her to pant and wiggle on the table.

"_You_," she panted through baited breaths. "_You _brought it out," she wailed, as her legs began to shake with the release she so desperately desired.

"No, not yet," I told her, extracting my hand from her. "You come when I come, Isabella. I want to see your face contort and your body rigid. I want you to know who sent you over the edge; whose name you call when you climax," I told her, rolling off her.

"No! Please don't," she begged, the loss of contact making her protest.

"Relax, Isabella. We are going to switch places. I will be the canvas, your _Michelangelo_, and you can play your _own _game," I explained, reaching for her hand and lifting her from the table. I reached down to squeeze her ass hard and nibble on her ear as I whispered a command to her softly.

"Make me a _winner,_ Bella."

**-(*)-**

*B_E_L_L_A*

No, I wanna fall in love  
[This world is only gonna break your heart  
No, I wanna fall in love  
[This world is only gonna break your heart]  
With you  
[This world is only gonna break your heart]  
No I  
[This world is only gonna break your heart]  
[This world is only gonna break your heart]  
Nobody loves...no one

-(*)-

My eyes followed his torso as he laid flat on the table, the paint squishing underneath his body as he waited for me to start. The paint that he had erotically painted across my skin dripped onto the tile floor as I moved to pick up a loose piece of canvas that had fallen under the table, then crawled on top of his body, feeling his throbbing cock twitch against my belly as I bent down to kiss his lips, which were still stained blue. His hand collapsed onto my waist as his other hand traced from my shoulder blades, and followed my spine clear down to the crack of my ass.

"No touching, Edward. Rule number one," I smiled, reaching my hand down and grabbing his hand that rested on my buttocks, pulling it up his body so that it rested above his head on the table. "No hands allowed," I said, bringing his other hand off my waist to join the other.

"I like this game already," he said, his eyes a deep black mass of desire.

"Good," I replied, taking the piece of canvas and tying his wrists together, binding them so that they couldn't move separately. "This game is like "Battleship." I paint numbers on you, and you tell me which two to follow to a certain point on your body."

"Like coordinates?" he asked, his eyebrows rising. "Interesting."

"I like to call them 'hot spots.' It's only going to be interesting if you give me the right combination, Edward. I promise to make it easy for you."

He laughed as he watched me reach over for the brush he had used on me earlier. Slowly and with purposeful gentleness, I dipped the brush into the orange paint that had puddled near Edward's naked hip. I brought the paintbrush over to his chest, and from left to right, I placed the first number on his shoulder, and then followed until I reached his other shoulder with the final number, which was five.

"And vertically, now," I said, my hand tracing down his chest softly until I reached the coarse pubic hair. Deliberately, I rocked up hips forward so that my wet sex rubbed against his hardness. He groaned.

"Fuck, Bella," he blurted out, lifting his head off the table to look down at my hips swaying on his body.

"Not yet, you said," I reminded him, smiling.

"You keep doing that, and I'm going to accidentally explode. Paint a fucking warning on me," he smiled lazily, his breathing deep and low.

I laughed, and then stopped moving my hips as I took the paintbrush and repeated the action, numbering his body vertically from one to ten, which stopped at his knee.

"There, all done," I whispered, throwing the brush back onto the table. "A number, Edward."

"Three," he replied huskily.

I bent down and pulled his bottom lip with my teeth, letting it go and sending a chaste kiss in its place.

"Three," I said, sliding my hand down over the number three I had painted, which rested at the base of his clavicle. "Another."

"This game is too slow," Edward commented, his face turning into a frown.

"Slow? Only if you pick the wrong number, Edward," I breathed into his face. "Pick a fucking number, now."

"Six," he murmured. "It's a shame you have my hands tied, Isabella. Your tits look amazing from down here," he added.

"Three," I said, sliding my hand down his chest while moving my other hand vertically on his body. "Six."

The numbers he gave me led to the area of his navel. "Too high," I commented, reaching down to bit the sensitive skin of his belly button. My tongue circled the outer rim. I could feel him move slightly, arching his hips into my tongue, a slight moan escaping from his lips.

"Since this is my game, I'll let you keep the three, but you have to choose another number, Edward. You were a bit too high," I said, kissing his stomach and lifting my head.

"Too high? Eight?" Edward moaned, apparently feeling my hand moving against his waist.

I followed the eight he gave me, which led under my body. I scooted downward further toward his knees, releasing his erection, and smiled. He groaned as my moving hand found the head of his hard cock, which rested against his right inner thigh.

"I think you won, Edward," I breathed, pulling it up with my fingers. "What do you _think _you've won?" I teased, pressing my other hand down on his balls. The sensation would both provide heat to release, and also cause a more intense orgasm, something that would reward him completely.

I was going to reward him by riding him, but since his hands were tied, it would have been an unfair advantage on his part, because being tied with your hands above your head causes your muscles to relax, causing an orgasm that could go on and on. I was the rule maker, and that was too much of a prize for him. I decided to save this move for future use.

"Shit, Bella," he moaned, his eyes falling closed and his hands twitching against the canvas binding.

Without a word, I bent my lips down, sheathing my teeth, and lifted my hot mouth over his throbbing, rock hard cock. My lips guided downward, over the head and all the way to his hilt, eliciting deep growling moans from Edward. I passed back up the shaft, letting my teeth graze the head with slight pressure. I could feel his balls tighten under my hand, and the pulsating quicken in my mouth.

"Bella," he muttered, "I can't hold on much longer."

"Edward…" I started to say, releasing his hard member from my mouth with a pop.

I was cut off by the sound of something ripping apart, but before I could connect the sound to anything, Edward was up in a flash, his hands collapsing over my waist. In a move that only seemed possible in the movies, he turned and flung me hard onto the table, his body looming over me, his eyes wild and deep. He took a look at my face and picked me up, my legs wrapping around his naked hips instinctually. His mouth was on mine roughly as he walked with me quickly over to the small kiln a few feet away. He was gentler as he pushed my body against the kiln, his mouth leaving mine and traveling in fast, urgent kisses down my throat and across my breasts.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Bella," he panted, his lips now at my ear.

He caught me off guard when he leaned me against the kiln and stepped back a pace to reach between his legs.

"Can't…hold…" he murmured.

I could feel his heated cock at my wet entrance, the head teasing the slit with the pulsating throbs.

"I've got to…" he breathed against my neck.

"Do it, Edward. Fuck me," I panted, my nails digging into his back.

I gasped out loud as he slipped into my slick folds, filling and stretching me.

"Edward," I yelled out loud as he stretched and my walls closed around him.

His thrusts were forceful and powerful as my back banged against the kiln violently as he stretched me.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he said, reaching out and kissing my lips as his rhythm picked up pace; the slapping of wet, oily, painted skin nearly drowning out the moans that escaped my mouth.

I could feel the paint on our bodies mix and stick together in the heat and sweat, dripping over our knees, legs, chests and pooling down to where we were joined together, where it dripped over and around his hard dick. Momentarily, I hoped that the paint was non-toxic, but after he thrust hard and deep into me, it jarred loose from my mind.

"Oh, god, Edward," I moaned, letting my head lull against his neck as he shoved himself back into me hard, over and over again, his hands falling from my waist to my ass where he squeezed tightly, pulling me against him harder.

I could feel my walls start to contract around him, the heat of the friction overwhelming my body, making me quiver with every single deep thrust that he made.

"Soon, Edward," I whispered, unable to completely form coherent words.

"Not yet," he panted harshly. "Come when I come, Isabella. I want to see you come! Say my name when you orgasm, Isabella."

The feeling that I had to pee, which I knew was a sign of an impending orgasm, nearly derailed me. I fought against the urge to cry out and release. I could feel Edward start to shake, and a guttural growl escape from his chest, and I knew he was soon ready to spread into me.

"Ahhhhh," he gritted his teeth.

I felt him tighten along with my walls, and we both released at the same time, the panting and moaning between us filling the studio.

"Edward…" I moaned out breathlessly, my muscles in my body contracting and my movements going rigid with the powerful orgasm.

"Shit," Edward said, pumping twice before pulling out. "Shit."

He rested his sweaty forehead against mine and left me down on the floor. His hands came up to cup either side of my face, and he leaned in to kiss my lips. My lips shaped themselves to his and my hands followed his strong spine down to his muscular waist.

"I love you, Isabella," he panted. "So fucking much."

"I love you, too, Edward."

"I think you made yourself the winner, though, Isabella," he murmured against my lips.

"Why is that? I thought my rules were fair," I smiled against his lips and placed a hand on his chest.

"You sunk my battleship."

I smirked and reached my lips to his ear.

"No, I _blew up_ your battleship."

In the light of the afternoon sun of the studio, we laughed, and Edward drew me against his body in a tight hug, his hand rested on the small of my back, and the other on my left butt cheek.

"I like wicked games," he whispered, smiling.

"Me, too."

* * *

A/N:

So, they finally did it. But will it be the same when what she did sinks in Bella's mind?

The paint was non-toxic, folks. She won't get paint crabs for anything...(laughs at 'paintcrabs')

Rec. A story: 'Gynazole' by: http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5682539/1/GYNAZOLE The story is hilarious and engaging!


	8. The Unexpected Knocks

THE UNEXPECTED KNOCKS

8.

*B_E_L_L_A*

I felt his fingertips lightly caress the bare skin of my hip in slow, hypnotic circles. He was pressed firmly against my backside as we stood in the shower to wash off the oily paint that had slackened against our bodies and caked on our skin. He bent down to press his wet lips to the side of my neck, his other hand running over the flat surface of my stomach.

"Are you alright, Bella?" Edward asked, moving his hand up the length of my torso to push the wet hair from my face. "Did I hurt you? You've been very quiet."

I smiled and turned my body to face him, pressing my still swollen sex against his increasingly hard shaft. His hand fell to the cleft of my lower back, and my arms reached up to wrap around his neck.

"Hurt me? Oh, yes, Edward," I rolled my eyes at him. "I was moaning in _pain,_ and when I was screaming 'oh yes,' I _really_ meant 'ouch," I replied, giggling as I reached my lips to his as the water splashed on our faces.

"Such a smart ass with a nice ass," he smiled crookedly at me. "But you know what I am talking about, Isabella."

My gaze fell from his and my hands loosened from his neck, falling with a wet slap against his chest. I knew, deep in the back of my mind, that the regret would come later. In the shear moment of passion that enthralled us, I crumbled,-willingly, but crumbled nonetheless—and gave in to the moment. Sure, I had just had the best sex ever, but it would be without, and would always be without forgetting what had happened before.

Edward lifted his hand under my chin and pulled my gaze up to meet his, where a frown stood etched across his face, his skin tightening and his brows furrowing.

"Isabella, please tell me what you are thinking. If I did something—"

"No, Edward," I said, trying to smile a little. "That was…_wow_…something. I'm fine, really." I reached up and brushed my fingers through his wet hair. "I have to go and get ready for the show tonight."

I smiled at him, and stepped an inch or two back, ready to leave the shower, when his hand collapsed on my wrist. My eyes wandered to his face where a mischievous smile unfurled, the gleam in his eyes wicked and deep.

"Isabella, I still haven't given you your reward for passing your final today," he said, snapping his hand toward his body, effectively jerking me against him tightly. "I don't do things half-assed, Bella; half naked, maybe, but_ never_, _ever_, half –assed."

Turning me around and pressing me against him, his hand trailed slowly down my wet torso, down over my breasts, his fingers stopping to lightly squeeze my nipples, the puckering, painful pleasure causing a moan to escape from my mouth before he descended further down my body, stroking the sensitive skin across my belly.

"You honestly didn't think you'd get away without your reward, did you?" Edward whispered, his breath tickling my ear. "If you won't take the brush, at least take this."

His knee parted my thighs and his raspy breath continued to make me shiver.

"_This_, Isabella," he said huskily, "is _not _from Alice, trust me."

His hand lingered around my navel, his index finger lightly scraping around the delicate hole with precise pressure.

"Edward," I murmured as I felt his hand cup my nether region.

"Shh," he commanded. "There is plenty of time to say my name, although, I do prefer it when you scream it out."

His index finger curved upward, causing it to dip into the dripping entrance, his thumb slowly flicking my swollen, soft clit. I melted against him immediately, my eyes closing as his middle finger plunged into my lips again. I could feel his hard cock bang the back of my buttocks as he slowly moved me forward with his rocking hips to provide sensation and depth to his finger fucking. I moaned breathlessly as his rhythm started to quicken, the pushing and extracting of his fingers ripping through my body. I could feel his cock twitch against the back of my thigh as he reached his other hand upward to roughly pinch my breasts.

"You have no idea how much I want to take you from behind in this shower, Isabella," he muttered melodically in my ear. "If there was time, I would make you forget what you were being rewarded for."

His fingers curved inward and I let out a loud moan, pressing a palm to the shower wall. Hell, if there was only five minutes, I would let him do it, but his voice suggested that he would save this for later. Or so I hoped. He twirled his fingers inside me, causing his knuckles to scrap my eager walls.

"Edward," I cried out. "Shit."

"It's alright, Bella. Come," he soothed softly, turning his fingers around and around inside me, causing me to tighten against him. "Come. It's your reward, after all. Quite a prize…it's not battleship…" he murmured, moving his other hand to dig his fingers into my waist, pressing me harder against him, causing his fingers to separate inside me.

"Shut up! Like that," I muttered, closing my eyes and then opening them when he dipped into me once more.

His fingers continued one more pass before I yelled out and released my orgasm, my breathing uneven and my body twitching as he extracted his fingers from me. He turned me so I was facing him and I watched as he took his wet fingers into his mouth. He licked them and then smiled at me.

"You taste just as good as you feel, Bella," he murmured, reaching out to pull me roughly against him. "Even _better_."

"I'm—I'm glad," I stuttered, my orgasmic high still fully intact.

"Congratulations, dear Isabella," he whispered, biting my earlobe.

-(*)-

"What should I wear to the show tonight?" Rose asked, holding up a lilac Gucci dress and frowning. "This thing makes my tits look frumpy," she added, throwing a white lace bra on the bed.

We were at Rose's apartment to get ready, three hours before the show. Well, for _her _to get ready. All I had to do was get dressed since I had taken a shower earlier. Those details would be hastily tucked away from Rose's prying questions. Rose was trying on dresses that would make her breasts the star attraction, effectively attracting men to the milk bags like Oreo cookies.

"So wear the Victoria Secret bra that you use on Tyler. Your tits do not look frumpy, by the way," I told Rose, picking up the white lace push up she discarded. "They look…_perky_," I added, throwing the bra back down.

"Perky? My tits look _'perky?'_ Well, I know one bra that I will be taking back. I'm going for 'damn, those tits are like soft pillows,' not 'shit, those nipples could open cans,' Bella." She rolled her eyes at me and threw the Gucci dress onto the bed with the bra.

"Rose, you are never this glad to go to one of Dad's shows or openings. What's your deal?"

Rose stepped backwards out of her closet and winked at me. "Well, who knows who I'll meet there," she smiled deviously and held up a white Donna Karen number with sequined beads at the neckline. "This one?"

"That's a good titty dress, Rose. So, who is it you want to meet there?" I smiled at the frown that formed on her face. "Someone I know?"

"Fuck, Bella! Can I not be obvious for one damn night?" She said, her hand flailing through her blonde hair. "Emmett Cullen. Happy?"

I nearly choked to death on my own slobber. "Excuse me? Didn't you say his ass-"

"Bella, give me a break! Sure, his ass crack was a little…_disturbing_, but he was really witty. I like that…" she trailed off, licking her lips with a slight smile on her face.

"Where's your water bottle?"

"Why?"

"I want to know what kind if shit you are drinking with it! Emmett? Really?"

She shook her head and threw the Karen on the bed, diving back into her expansive and expensive closet. "What about his brother, Edward? Really?" she mocked, throwing another dress on the bed without turning around.

At his name, my face became animated, and my mind reverted back to the studio, to the paint sex and to the shower afterward. The way he touched me was foreign; new, and a complexity that could only be explained as hunger and need. I tore a piece of myself off back there, shedding some light into the deepest recesses that had been buried for four long, bitter years. I could still feel his fingers on my waist, his knee separating my thighs, the way his fingers dipped into me; tasting the salty sweetness of me…

"Earth to Bella!" Rose was saying, waving her hand in front of my face and frowning. "Where'd you go, Bella?"

I shook my head and met her suspicious gaze, my face trying to mask the smile hiding just beyond. She narrowed her eyes at me and then turned around to continue dress hunting.

"You are too picky, Rosalie Hale. I'm sure your boobs will stay in the yard in any dress. Plus, Emmett will tell you what he thinks anyway. Considering you're a female with a nice set, he'll love them in anything," I told her stiffly, standing and joining her in her closet. "What about this one?"

I held out the beige dress to her, but lowered it when I caught hold of the expression on her face. Her eyes were narrowed at me, and her head cocked to one side, her mouth slightly ajar. I knew the look well; it was the look of suspicion and of drawing comprehension.

"Bella," she said softly, reaching out to take the dress from my hands and hang it back on the rack. "What are you hiding? You never are this enthusiastic helping me pick out what to wear." She grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me over to the bed, pushing me down and crossing her arms. "Spill it."

She started to shake her head when her eyes caught sight of something near my right temple. She reached her fingers out and stoked the hair that was lying along my cheek.

"Is that paint? How did you get paint in your hair, Bella?" Rose asked, frowning as she took her nail and scraped the hardened paint.

_Damn! I thought I got all the paint...but then, I was too preoccupied with Edward's fingertips on my cold, wet body._

"Oh. Must have missed it," I said, casting a glance at Rose and then down to the white plush carpet under my feet as to not give my guilt away.

"Isabella..."

I sighed deeply. "I went over to Edward's studio this afternoon," I spilled, flopping back on her bed and closing my eyes.

"Why? I thought you didn't want to see or hear from the asshole anymore?"

"Well, that was _before_ he came over to my apartment last night drunk and jealous, Rose," I muttered, inching over on the bed as I felt her sit beside me.

"You didn't..." Rose trailed off, nudging my side so that I opened my eyes. "You didn't _forgive_ him?"

"No. I called Emmett to come pick him up," I told her. I remained silent a moment and then whispered so that she had to strain to hear me. "He figured it out, Rose. He asked me if something happened...if the reason I won't let him close to me is because something-_someone_-did something."

Rose lay down on the bed beside me and snagged my hand, squeezing it tightly. Her face mingled concern and uncertainty, and her eyes bore into mine, possibly searching for some sign of the depression that had usually threatened to overtake me. I was sure—as I felt it in my heart—that there was none for her to detect.

"What did you tell him, Bella?" she whispered softly. "Did you tell him the truth?"

I looked over at Rose and shook my head slowly.

"No. I couldn't do it. Rose. When he...when he asked me, there was a change in him; in his features. I saw the light and the desire he felt melt away," I whispered, thinking back mentally to those onyx, alcohol-induced flickers. "I tried."

"I know you did. Lying to him is going to bite you in the ass, Bella. I don't care for the man, but he at least deserves to hear the truth."

"But it will get back to Dad, and you know that, Rose. Besides," I muttered under my breath. "I think after this afternoon, he's forgotten about my..._touching_ problem."

Rose sat up so quickly that she nearly fell off the bed in an attempt to turn to me. A small smile appeared on her face, and her hand disengaged from mine, and again went to the small, dry paint patch that matted the strands on the side of my face.

"You got this at his studio, didn't you?" Rose asked. "I'm going to guess non-conventionally."

I laughed at that and slowly shook my head. "I went over there to return his gift and to thank him for the lessons, which helped me pass the finals."

"Gift?"

"He...well, _Alice_, sent me a brush embossed with my name on it. I didn't want it; it costs a lot of money, Rose. So I went over there to return it," I explained to her, casting a glance at her as she flopped down beside me once again.

"Sounds like he accepted much more than the brush back," she whispered softly. She was silent for a second, and then: "Were you alright?" she murmured.

I turned so that my line of sight fell even with hers. "Better than alright."

"So...he's the one who's going to heal your scars?" Rose asked me. "Help you forget?"

"I will never forget _completely_, Rose. But, even if it is just for a minute, he makes it hide. I'm happy with him, Rose," I told her, sitting up and sighing. "Very happy."

"Well, then, Isabella Swan," she said, smiling and standing on her feet. "Let's get you dressed up for your man!"

She grabbed my hand and pulled me to a standing position, dragging me over to her closet. "Pick a dress."

"Rose..."

"Pick. A. Dress."

I sighed, but pointed to a white, strapless dress with black sequence at the bust. It was always a favorite of mine, and Rose had never worn it. It was also very expensive.

"Ah. Another Gucci! Come," she said, pulling the dress off the rack and pressing it in my hands. "Let me make you over. I'm sure it won't be on long anyway."

"Rose..."

"Just make sure you don't place it on the floor. At least have the wherewithal to hang it up. Who knows? Maybe you won't need to take it off...go Lewinsky* style," Rose smiled, leading me to the bathroom door and closing it behind us with a snap.

_-(*)-_

E_D_W_A_R_D

-(*)-

I looked out over the mess of my studio and smiled. Normally, when paint was ricocheted all over my work space, I cursed and kicked things around in anger for pure fucking sport. Not today. No. Today, I embraced my slovenly ways, knowing that I didn't create the mess alone, and not with such a low-key activity like painting.

My eyes scanned the floor; dripping paint had splattered in colorful droplets; the kiln, still dented from my kick, stood plastered with a trail of paint where Bella's ass had hit the top of the kiln; the table and floor areas were completely covered in the oil, the gloss reflecting absently from the overture of lights and sun from the window. I could still mentally feel the paint glide studiously against her milky skin, dipping into the folds of her body and mixing with her juices.

I hadn't wanted to let her go after our clean-up session, but the show was in less than three hours, and I still had to transport my painting (which I still had yet to decide) and get there to set the piece up for Mr. Swan. Had there been any more time, I would have bent her over and took her over and over again. In fact, it took all my will to not fuck her from behind earlier.

I turned around to change out of my jeans and shirt, when a figure in the doorway scared the waking shit out of me. My hand flew upwards in full on 'ninja mode',' and then fell to my side in a fist once I caught hold of who it was.

"Jesus Christ, Em! What the fuck, man?" I blurted out shortly. "Are you trying to fucking kill me?"

Em laughed and walked further into the room. "Trying to. So far, it isn't working," he replied, then frowned. "What the hell happened here? Who opened fire with your paints, dude?"

I feigned a shrug, but as I looked around, I knew there was just no explaining this unless it was the truth. I sighed and ran my hand through my still damp hair.

"Bella came over." My eyes plunged to the green pool of oil seeping into the red pool next to it on the floor as I avoided his gaze.

"Came over? Fucking shit, Ed! It looks like you took her around the fucking world in one giant paintball gun!" His eyes scanned the mess and then fell back to me, as I could feel them boring into me.

"Emm-" I started.

"What is _this_, now?" Emmett interrupted, bending down near the door and picking up a piece of white cloth. "Is this _lace_?" he asked, waving it in my face like a penalty flag.

I walked forward and snatched it from his huge paws. "Pervert."

"Yes, there is paint all over the room, a piece of racy lace on the floor, and," he said, looking past me at the kiln, "there is a big ass dent on that thing, because _I'm_ the perv. Yes, Edward. I'm all _kinds_ of pervert," he chuckled, shaking his head in humor.

I bunched up the lace and stuck it in my jeans pocket. Emmett stopped shaking his head and his face took a more serious, more defined expression.

"I hope you did the right thing, Edward. You know that girl isn't completely hands-on," he said, his voice deep and surly. "Don't make it all about you."

"You know, Emmett," I replied, walking forward. "This _touchy-feely_ crap is really great and all, but I know what I'm doing. I'm not you, Em," I explained. "I don't _fuck _a girl and then do a Houdini* the next morning."

Emmett smiled crookedly before responding with a "Touché."

"Why are you here, anyway? Aren't you being a good boy and helping Mr. Swan?" I asked, walking past him and out into the hallway.

I could feel him behind me as I descended the long hallway and walked into the small break room.

"Alice made me come over here to tell you Mr. Swan is expecting your painting in an hour," Emmett explained. "Don't shoot the messenger," he added, catching a fleeting glimpse at my stony expression. "Guessing you have nothing done?"

"No. That fucking Newton and his catatonic stupidity!" I hissed, running a hand through my hair and cursing. "There is one painting, but the consequences of using it could mean trouble with Bella."

I really had no choice, and I knew damn well that Charlie would be expecting a piece that spoke with the confidence he always gave me. Nothing, apart from the portrait of Bella, had even come close to achieving that.

"That painting of Angie? Edward, are you _serious_? That damaged, warped chick is old news. Why bring that shit to the forefront of your art?" He propped his elbow on the counter and shook his head.

"Because, Em," I replied, throwing a water bottle on the counter beside him and getting another from an overhead cabinet for me. "It's all I have. I know Bella may be upset about my using it, but what other option do I have?" I sighed, leaning back on the counter and taking a long sip of the cool, purified water.

Emmett screwed his face up in bold concentration, and then shrugged. "You're right."

"I know Angie is going to be there, I'm sure of that. Let's see what her mantra is when her tits get plastered behind all those people's eyes!" I laughed, replacing the lid on my water and sitting it down. "I think Bella will see things my way. If not, I could always persuade her."

"Uh, Ed my man…I'm not sure doing that in the same place where her father is roaming is a good idea…" Emmett said, casting a slight smile at me.

"Who says?" I smiled. "Come on, let's go get this damn thing off my wall and into your car," I told him, springing away from the counter and turning toward the door to the hallway.

Emmett and I got halfway up the hall when a voice rang out from the lobby of the studio. The voice was vaguely familiar to me, but it was distant and untraceable to a certain person. I looked at Em and shrugged.

"Go ahead up there and take it carefully off the wall. You tear it, I tear you a new asshole," I told him, casting a glance at the lobby.

"Yeah, alright. Are you expecting someone?" he asked, following my gaze and then looking back at me.

I shook my head and nodded toward the staircase. "We only have an hour, Em."

I watched as Emmett took the stairs two at a time and disappeared, before turning around and heading into the lobby area. I knew who it was immediately as my eyes raked over them, the curiosity melting into agitation and frustration.

"You," I sighed exasperatedly.

"Me," she said, not bothering to smile.

"Why are you here?" I asked her, crossing my arms and frowning deeply.

"I'm here because of Bella," she replied, lifting her chin in contempt. "Don't talk to me like that. I'm not Isabella. I will shut you down."

"You will never change, Rose," I told the blond statuesque woman, smiling slightly and shaking my head.

"That's really interesting that you bring that up, Edward. You see, I'm here to make sure you _do_ change."

B_E_L_L_A

-(*)-

I took the curlers out of my hair and winced as it pulled stray strands during the extraction. The white dress hung neatly on its hanger on the towel rack, and Rose's make-up case stood open on the vanity. I looked at myself in the squeaky clean mirror and smiled. The heavy, warm, curly tendrils struck out in grace around my pale face, which Rose had dressed in a nude shade of foundation, the lipstick thick and heavy on my pouty lips.

"Rose is a fucking genius," I exclaimed, pulling the hair to cast around my shoulders. "Looks like porcelain."

I stepped away from the mirror, and pulled the towel closer to my body, flicking the curlers back into their plastic case. Rose had gone to get bobby pins to hold my hair twenty minutes ago. I had told her she really didn't need to, but she insisted, and flitted out of the room quickly before I could properly argue my case more.

I sat down on the commode and lifted a leg, setting the ball of my foot on the edge of the whirlpool tub. I reached over and grabbed the shaving cream can, shook it and lathered my palm. I reached for the razor on the vanity, but before my fingertips elongated enough to grasp it, I heard the sound of Rose's doorbell in the distance. For an instant, I debated not answering it, but decided that Rose would be upset if she found out.

"Shit," I muttered exasperatedly. "One second!" I shouted, reaching over, yanking the hand towel off the vanity beside the razor and cleaning my hands.

I stood and made my way through her bedroom and down her long hardwood hall. I grasped the towel around me tighter as I stepped to the front door. I took a deep breath before I yanked the door open a crack and peered out.

"Hello, Isabella," the voice said gravelly. "Don't you look spiffy?"

I swallowed hard and stared at the piercing blue eyes.

"What are you doing here? How did you find this address?" I asked consecutively, laying the malice on thick in my tone.

"Now, now, Bella," the voice said, eying my face with renewed interest. "You seem to be ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Why, for the fun we are going to have, Isabella. I have so much planned," the voice cooed, the smile spreading wide.

"I don't know how you found Rose's address, but you can't be here. Goodbye, Angie."

I shut the door and locked it, resting my bare back against the cold wood. How did she find Rose's address? How had she known I was here? But, more importantly than those trivial questions, what exactly did Angela Weber have planned?

* * *

A/N:

So what is Rose doing at Edwards, and what does she mean by 'make sure you do change?' And what was Angie implying? Who gave Angie Rose's address? What will happen when Bella realizes Edward is using the naked portrait of his ex in the art show after he told her he would not?

I have teased this story with visual teasers and such and just no luck...Maybe the story isn't as good as I thought...anyway, if you have any ideas on whoring this out, by all means, Private message me. Otherwise, I'm going to consider this Fic a BUST


	9. Into the Eyes of Lust

INTO THE EYES OF LUST

9.

-(*)-

I watched Rose turn to me, the irritation waning and turning my face into a mix of something that made her smile slightly.

"Nervous?" Rose asked, crossing her arms and dropping the smile. "You should be."

I reached up and pinched the bridge of my nose in between my thumb and index finger and sighed. "Why is that, Rose?"

She laughed soundlessly, engrossed in the pleasure her disruption had made. She shook her head, and I lowered my hand from my face and leaned against the wall, crossing my arms and staring at the blonde Barbie doll in front of me.

"No, really, enlighten me," I told her.

"I don't need to enlighten you about anything, Edward. You already know," she replied cryptically. "And you know I know, or at least you _should_."

"Cut the shit, Rosalie. What are you talking about? I've got no clue, and I'm not a fucking detective. Throw me a bone."

"Bella told me what happened here, Edward. She tells me everything. That is what people who love one another do. They hold no secrets, tell no lies," Rose revealed softly, looking through me rather than at me. "Can you say the same, Edward?"

My mouth suddenly became dry, and my teeth felt like slippers as my tongue flicked against them in search of moisture. I didn't like the way she was speaking to me. It left a wide array of emotions coursing through me. I cocked my head and decided to answer her question with one of my own.

"Can _you_? Does she know you're here? What did you come over here to tell me, Rose_? 'Stay away from Bella'_?" I mocked her voice with precision, making her face fall and her eyes narrow. "I can't do that."

"I'm not here to ask you to. I just wanted you to know what I am about to tell you. I hope, after I do, that you will understand things; make them clearer for you. I know, Edward. I know all about it," Rose said, looking forlorn for the first times since I had set eyes on her.

"What are you talking about?" My eyes snapped to hers, and in that instant, in the tiny broken fragment of time, my mind was down on its knees praying that my assumption was wrong; my eyes pleaded with hers, but in the end, I knew what she knew.

Rose looked at me and nodded slightly to acknowledge that I was right in my assumption.

"Four years ago," Rose started, uncrossing her arms and shoving them into her jeans. "Four years ago, Charlie was holding an award ceremony for one of his up-and-coming artists." She laughed soundlessly. "Yes, I mean you. It was crowded that night, and it was hard to keep track of everyone," she said, as if foreshadowing an excuse.

I just stared at her, the sheer knowledge that she knew bubbling to the surface, threatening to expose me in my vulnerable state. I was about to tell her I remember the night well, when she continued.

"I remember you and Angie talking to me and Charlie a bit. I remember that, Edward," Rose emphasized. "I stood in the back and watched as Angie sifted through that crowd and into the back rooms of the studio. I remember it, because I remember the cheap fucking perfume wafting in as she moved."

"What does this have to do with Bella?" I broke in, my voice cracking slightly.

"I'm going to tell you! God, you're awfully dumb..." she said, shaking her head and sighing.

"You have to hurry up, I have a painting due very soon," I told her. "Cut to the Bella part...it's all I care about."

"I saw Angie come out from the back, and you know what I saw on her face, Edward? Horror; pure horror," she told me, her voice distant, like she was reliving the expression in her mind. "She was really scared. I tried to tell myself that she was just irritated about something, or maybe she didn't want to go back there in the first place, I'm not sure."

"She went to get my speech from my jacket. What's so odd about that? Angie always looks irritated. It's who she is.," I replied, licking my lips, which were dry again.

"Let me finish! I saw her tap you on the shoulder. I heard her whisper in your ear, Edward," she said, effectively making my heart drop into my stomach. "I saw you coldly turn away from her and retreat on that fucking stage, plastering a fucking fake smile on your face like nothing happened." Her voice rose rapidly and she stepped forward toward me.

"I thought it was a joke," I whispered, my eyes closing and my Adam's Apple bobbing nervously. The obvious finally hit me.

_Rose knew._

"You thought wrong. Something about the whole situation seemed off. I drifted off through the crowd as you stood on that stage and made everything sugar-coated. I couldn't hear much until I was halfway down the hall. I heard her screaming, then," Rose explained, her eyes softening with the tears that surfaced. "I heard her crying."

Realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt my stomach heave and my vision blur slightly. Rose had known what happened, and, as she stood here now, she knew who it happened to. I tried to form words, but nothing seemed to escape from my worn, tethered lips.

"I yanked-" She stopped as the tears slowly fell from her eyes. "I yanked the door open to one of the back studios, and I could see that he had his hand under her skirt and the other hand restraining her wrists. As soon as the door swung against the wall, both of them looked at me, and as soon as her eyes met mine, I knew it was her." Rose tried to suppress a sob and failed. "It was Bella."

"No," I whispered. It was the only thing I could think to say.

"Four years ago, the person you didn't help-the person you chose to ignore- was Bella. I knew who you were from the first time Bella mentioned your name. She was so happy when she talked about you, there was no way I could break her heart. I also didn't want her to relive the pain of four years ago."

"She...she wouldn't let me touch her for the longest time," I said aloud, understanding falling over me like rain in a storm.

"You have so much to learn about her, Edward. Like how she never sleeps without the lights on? How she pretends to be strong until you get close to her? You know what she told me just a half hour ago?" Rose half smiled.

"What?" I murmured.

"She said you make her very happy. Tell me, Edward. How can you sleep at night knowing the person you love is the person you helped destroy?"

"What do you want me to do, Rosalie? Tell her? Because I will, if that's what it takes," I told her. "I can make it right."

Rose shook her head. "You could never make it right again. But I actually came over here to ask you a favor. It's what's best for Bella," she said.

"I have to tell her, Rose. I have to make it right again...tell her I'm sorry," I half-begged.

Rose caught my eyes and shook her head again. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"Idea of _what_? That I'm the reason she can't let people fucking touch her? Do you know what I had to _do_ just to get her to let me have _sex_ with her?"

"Do _you_ know the four years she spent in and out of therapists offices and let me not forget the time I found her in the tub with part of a razor blade still embedded in her wrist. God, let us not think of what _you_ had to go through! If you tell her the truth, it will happen again. And you will run away, leaving her alone and even more fucked up!" Rose retorted.

"Wait...I...I remember asking her if something happened. She lied to me."

"She was protecting you, moron. She thought that you would see her differently if she told you the truth. Plus, in case you forgot, you were drunk out of your mind. It's a wonder you remember anything." Rose rolled her eyes. "Return the favor. Protect her by keeping what you know in seclusion in your mind."

I looked at Rose and knew that she was right. I had to protect Bella at any cost. I would essentially fall apart if something happened to her. I loved her, and knowing what Rose filled me in on was more than I could possibly bury deep in the blackness that was my heart. Bella seemed to be getting somewhere, especially this afternoon, and I had to make sure she continued on this path.

"Alright," I agreed, nodding my head. "For Bella."

"For Bella," she agreed, starting to walk past me.

"Why did you keep this from me until now if you knew?" I asked her, watching as she stopped in front of me, and turned to answer.

"Because I was telling myself you were just a phase in her life that she would get over. But then, this afternoon when she told me you and her had sex, and I saw the look in her eyes, I knew it was real."

I said nothing, I simply watched as Rose walked to the double glass doors. She turned to me again as her hand hit the handle of the door.

"I have to get back to Bella. I left a while ago, and she will be worried. Now that you know the truth, I hope you change, Edward. For Bella's sake."

"I already have."

"Let's hope so," she said softly, opening the door, slipping through them, and disappearing into the increasingly cool afternoon.

_**-(*)-**_

I quietly gathered my tuxedo jacket in my hand, sitting on the edge of my bed and not really focusing on anything around me. I sighed in the dusky shadows and then reached over for the telephone on the nightstand.

It had been nearly two hours since Rose revealed it to me, but it seemed like just a minute ago. The pain in my heart and in my mind made it nearly impossible to maintain a voice that could pass as happy or joyful, but I had to try. I brought the receiver slowly to my ear and bend over to dial Bella's number, my fingers shaking slowly as I pressed the pads of my thumb on the oversized buttons. I heard three rings, and then her honey soft voice.

"Hello?" she asked softly.

"Hello, beautiful," I smiled in spite of myself.

"Hey yourself," she chuckled. "Did you call just to say that?" she teased.

I laughed and then sighed.

"No, Isabella. I called to ask if you would like me to pick you up," I replied. "Although, I'll admit, I'm very much looking forward to seeing you, that I can't wait for you to just show at the gallery. I need to see your beautiful face sooner," I told her truthfully. "I'm a selfish creature when it comes to you."

"Selfishness is just a person's way of claiming ownership," she quipped, a smile in her voice.

"Mmm, sounds about right."

I heard her hesitate on the other end of the line. It sounded as if her mouth came off the mouthpiece, and then I heard her sigh.

"Isabella, is everything alright?" I asked concernedly.

"Yes. You can pick me up, Edward. I have to talk to you anyway about something," Bella said, her voice low, as if she didn't want to be overheard. "I'm over at Rose's house. 4-2-7 Midnight Sun Drive."

"I will be there in ten minutes, Bella."

"Alright. See you then," she whispered, hanging up the phone.

I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it a second. Fear and panic crept uncomfortably below my skin as thoughts raced through my mind. What did she have to tell me? She seemed to behave oddly toward the end of that call. I shook my head and hung up the phone. Grabbing my black tuxedo jacket and putting it on, I took one last look at the phone before heading out to pick up Bella.

The last thing on my mind as I started my 2009 black Mustang, was how I hoped to god there was some way for me to get through this—_through it all_—without losing the person I gave -_and would give_- everything too.

**-(*)-**

B_E_L_L_A

**-(*)-**

"You sure you're not mad, Rose? I said I'd ride with you..." I trailed off, watching her fix her hair in the hallway mirror.

"No, Bella. I'm just glad you are happy for once," she said, her smile reflecting back from the mirror. "Go. Have fun."

I lifted my white dress carefully and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. "Thank you, Rose."

I opened the door and ran right into Edward, who was standing on the small concrete step with his hand raised in a knocking pose. He caught my elbow as my eyes met his and he gently (as to not step on my white flowing dress) pulled me to him, skimming his nose at the sensitive slope of my neck.

"Are you still alright with me touching you, Isabella?" Edward asked softly, his nose still softly rubbing against my skin.

I nodded, and he pulled me tighter against him.

"I missed you, Isabella," he said huskily, moving his lips up my neck to my ear. "Your smell, your feel, your _taste_." He punctuated that with a flick of my earlobe with his tongue. "So good."

"You look handsome, Edward," I whispered in his ear.

He laughed and pulled his face away from mine. He leaned back to get a better view of me and then leaned in once more.

"You look like something Michelangelo would paint, Isabella. Graceful, beautiful..." He trailed off, his eyes flickering darkly. "But maybe the dress won't be necessary for the after party," he murmured softly, reaching out to lift my lips to his.

"Quit trying to get in her pants before you even get there, Edward. She's not a Barbie you can play with!" Rose exclaimed, stepping behind me and exhaling sharply. "You two better go. Charlie will be pissed if he has to wait for more than he needs to."

"She's not wearing pants, Rose. There goes your theory. Take that," Edward smiled and took my hand, leading me down the walk to his car. "I love watching her get frown lines," he mused. "And don't listen to her about not being something to play with...I can think of a barrel of fun things to play with on you."

I smiled sheepishly, my mind on auto-tune to this afternoon, and the games we had played.

He opened the passenger side door and guided me in, helping to gather my dress before he shut the door and made his way to his side. He got in, shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb en route to the art gallery.

It was oddly quiet for a while as Edward navigated the streets, his gaze drifting over to me every so often. I was trying to work up the courage enough to tell him about Angie's visit. I wasn't completely sure I wanted to tell him, due to the fact that he would want to go in search of her. I didn't trust her one damn bit. She manipulated him once before, who was to say that she wouldn't try that old trick again?

"Edward," I began. "There-" I trailed off as I watched his eyes fall and his body go rigid. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," he replied. "Go ahead, Isabella."

He was clearly uncomfortable all of a sudden. His eyes remained forward and his answers were quick. Maybe now was not a good time to tell him that Angie had come over and threatened me. Maybe I could wait until after everything tonight, when Edward and I were alone, in private. I took a risk before by lying to him; maybe I could just hold this one out a little.

"Nothing. It can wait, it's not that important," I smiled at him, reaching over and touching his arm.

He turned his head and smiled crookedly, and then, as we stopped at a red light, bent over the seat to press his lips firmly against mine.

"You shouldn't touch me while I'm driving, Isabella. You know I can't behave," he smiled wickedly, taking my bottom lip in his teeth and tugging lightly. "Later, then."

He straightened himself as the light turned green and pressed on through traffic. Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up out front of Dad's new gallery, _Quileute_. A big white banner hung from two marble columns with _GRAND OPENING! CHARLIE SWAN GALLERIES _typed in gold across the front. Lanterns lit the front steps leading to the double glass doors, and people were pouring inside as the darkness outside swelled on.

"Charlie certainly goes all out, doesn't he? Come on, Bella, let's get you inside," Edward said, walking up the steps with his hand in mine.

He walked me up the walk, my dress turning amber in the lanterns dim lights and opened the door, letting me walk ahead of him into the lobby of Quileute. I could feel him behind me as I stopped to admire the gallery, the marble columns on both sides, and the wrap-around style walls that hung various paintings with plaques underneath. My eyes swept past the many bodies that filled the cavity of the lobby easily.

"Guess this _is_ better than the old art center," Edward muttered, placing a firm, warm hand around my waist. "It's quite a production." He whistled through his teeth.

"Everything he does is larger than life, Edward. I can feel a big scene when he sees me," I retorted, looking up into those onyx eyes with nervousness.

He chuckled. "Think he knows you passed the finals by now?"

"Oh, yes. Phil surely would have called him by now. Promise me you will make an excuse to pull me away from his bear hug? Please?" I playfully pleaded.

He leaned over to softly press his lips to my forehead. "I would do anything for you, Isabella. I'd always do what's best for you."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out why that statement made me the least bit uncomfortable, when my name being called from behind us captured my attention. Edward and I turned simultaneously toward the voice.

"Edward! Bella! You finally made it," Alice said, carefully wrapping me in a quick hug. She pulled back to rake in my appearance, and then smiled. "You look beautiful, Bella."

"Thank you, Alice," I replied with a returning smile.

Alice turned to Edward and the smile dropped from her face. "I am _very_ disappointed in you, Edward. Using that painting after-"

"Enough, Alice," Edward cut across her sharply. "It's the only piece even close to a replacement."

My face turned toward Edward's, which was a shade of red and his mouth was a thin white line. I instantly knew what painting Alice and Edward were talking about. It didn't take a genius to figure out exactly what it was. I could feel the frown etched upon my blushed face and the quick feeling of anger wash over me. But, as I looked up at Edward, and saw the apology in his eyes, the feeling dissipated, and I set my features to neutral.

"I'm sorry. I know I told you I wouldn't use it, but there was an accident with the portrait I had nearly complete," Edward explained, touching his fingers to my chin. "I promise, Isabella. It's just a painting on the wall. Think of it as getting rid of it…as in no more taking up space in my apartment," he smiled slightly.

"Ah, there is a light at the end of the tunnel," I joked. "It's fine, Edward. I wish you hadn't, but I understand that things happen," I told him, reaching my hand up to touch his cheek. "What happened to the painting you were going to show?"

Edwards's lips pursed and he shrugged. "Our new…janitor…was reaching for cleaning supplies, and stupidly knocked bleach onto the painting I had set on the kiln. Michael Newton should not be allowed near anything! He could kill you just my walking," Edward laughed. His laugh trailed off at the look on my face. "Bella? Are you alright?"

_Michael Fucking Newton. Fucking Mike Newton_. This was _impossible_! There was _no _way he was working at the studio of…

_NO!_

"Isabella!" Edward muttered frantically under his breath. "Goddamn it, would you please talk to me?" He shook my shoulder slightly.

"Sorry," I replied, trying my best to pull a tight smile on my face. "Sorry! I'm fine, Edward." I said, taking my hand from his face.

"Don't apologize, Bella. Come on, let's go find your father," Edward said, once again kissing my forehead. "Bye, Alice. Tell Emmett there is no need to wait for me, I'll be taking Isabella home."

My eyes flickered to Alice, who stood glaring at me, as if trying to figure out what the hell kind of expression I just had on my face. She narrowed her eyes at me and bit her lip.

"Wait, Edward," I said, putting a hand on his chest. "I need to go to the restroom for a minute…wait for me, okay?"

He nodded his head and let his hand go from around my waist. "I'll be waiting."

"I'll go with her," Alice offered, walking past Edward and grabbing me by the hand, dragging me through the bustling crowd toward the back area of the gallery, where the bathrooms were.

To my utter relief, the lights were ablaze above the small, narrow hallway that led to the girls' powder room. Alice opened the door and clicked it closed behind me. She turned from the door and faced me, her arms crossed and her mouth hung in a frown.

"Isabella, you might fool my brother, but you cannot fool me. The look on your face earlier was not just some random 'fade-out'. What the hell got to you so bad?" Alice demanded, her eyes knowing.

"Nothing, I—"

"Do not pull this bullshit on me, please. As soon as he mentions Mike Newton, you completely shut off. What? What happened? Did he hurt you when you were dating? Is that what that was about?"

"He—"I started.

"Do not lie to me, Bella. I can sniff out liars. If this is a private thing, and you don't want me to tell anyone else, I won't. But we are not leaving this bathroom until you tell me what that motherfucker has done to you. Did. He. Hurt. You?" Alice punctuated.

I looked into her eyes, and saw trust and understanding. I knew I could not share _exactly_ what happened….after all- she had only asked if he had hurt me…hurt comes in _many_ forms. Slowly, I nodded.

"Did he dump you?" Alice asked, her hand uncrossed and fell upon my bare shoulder. "Is that what happened?"

I shook my head. "I dumped him."

Alice smiled. "Good girl. Are you afraid Edward will find out? Is that why you haven't told him?"

"If Edward finds out what happened, I'm not sure there would be anything left of Mike to worry about," I told her truthfully.

"He loves you, you know," Alice said. "He would only be trying to protect you."

"Too late for that," I muttered so low, she didn't hear me as she turned to open the door.

"You should tell him the truth sometime, Bella. If you let it go, he will find out, and it will be worse."

"Noted," I replied.

"I know Edward would never keep anything from you, Bella. If he loves you the way I know he does, you have nothing to worry about. I've had boyfriends like Mike, so I can relate. Just…you didn't see the look on Edward's face when you spaced out."

"He knows we dated, Alice. He showed me the picture," I told her softly. There was no real need to, but I said it nonetheless.

"I know. I'm not saying what Edward did was right, but he only did it because he thought it was all him. His pride was hurt, Bella. Do you know what portrait got ruined? The one he was going to show tonight?" Alice asked, smiling slightly.

"No."

"It was your portrait, Bella. The one he was supposed to make for you to send to your Mom…he was going to put it on display. He told me that he couldn't send something so beautiful away."

"He thinks too much of me," I replied, but I smiled and was sure I was blushing, as well.

"Modesty really makes you old, Bella," Alice smiled.

Alice turned to open the door, but before she could, I spoke to her.

"Can I tell you something, Alice?" I asked, holding onto my bare arms and rubbing them. "You know…just between us?"

"Of course," she replied, taking her hand off the knob. "Anything."

I scrunched my nose up and sniffed. "Angie came by Rose's house while I was getting ready this afternoon," I told her, murmuring it softly.

Alice's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? Why?"

"I-I think she came to warn me about something," I told Alice. "She said she had a plan or something."

"Angie is one crazy motherfucker, Bella. You can't put stock into her words. She manipulates and lies to people. She's great at it, in fact. Scaring you is easier than scaring Edward. She knows she can't get to him, so she does it to you. Ignore her idle threats, Bella."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. Have you told Edw-," she stopped mid-sentence, and retracted. "Never mind. I know the answer." She shook her head in disapproval.

"I plan to tell him later, when he takes me home," I told Alice. "I swear."

She smiled and shook her head. "You won't be going home, Bella. You'll be going to his apartment. Don't be so naïve. Edward is like the Energizer Bunny when he finds something new to hump; he keeps going and going and going…no offense meant," Alice gasped, thinking she had said something she should not have.

"None taken," I laughed at her. "That's not a bad thing."

"Ewww…yes it is. He's my _brother_, and that image is now severely _lodged_ in my cerebrum. Ugh!" she exclaimed, turning the knob and walking through the doorway backwards. "Show starts in," Alice checked her watch, "ten minutes. I'm sure Edward is having a twitching attack waiting for you." She laughed, and then disappeared from the doorway.

I turned and walked to the vanity, placing my hands on either side. This was becoming a nightmare. How was I going to avoid seeing Mike at Edward's studio, now? How could I continue to keep this from Edward, Alice and the rest of his family? Lies piled on top of lies, and I was the starter of the web of deceit. I liked to think I was protecting Edward and myself at the same time. Logistically speaking, I was. I sighed deeply and looked at myself in the mirror. Four years ago, this face, this body was nearly raped. I wanted to repent; to be stronger, and it had to start with me. As far as I knew, Rose was the only one who knew about it, and, deep in my heart, I wanted to keep it like that until I wasn't alive anymore.

_Lies on top of lies._

At least I had told Alice about Angie's visit. Some of the uneasiness melted away, but was quickly replaced with repulsion and guilt for letting Mike get to me four years later. It was bad enough he had my nightmares, he couldn't be in my dreams, too, could he?

I closed my eyes as I turned away from the vanity to get back to Edward, when a shadow pushed me back firmly into the bathroom, the strong hand collapsing on my arm and kicking the door shut with his foot. I kept my eyes shut as I struggled against the grip, feeling the vanity strike my back as he pushed me forcefully back against it.

"_Stop_," the voice commanded harshly, locking my wrists in a tight grip. "Stop fighting!"

It was Mike Newton. I just knew it.

I prepared for him to finish what he started. I stopped fighting and opened my eyes…

Staring back at me was a pair of eyes that filled me with a sickening feeling from the emotion struck deep behind the shadowed pupils….

_Lust._


	10. Inertia

A/N:

*Again, thanks for alerting and favoring…I got a very busy inbox these last few days! Thank you so much for that! I believe it was posted on sunfeathers' blog, so a big thanks to her for doing that!

*Follow me on twitter for updates: http:/www(dot)twitter(dot)com/EclipticalDust. Don't be shy!

*Please continue to rec, fave and share this story. I am writing it for you.

Into the wicked mind of lies…

* * *

Covering my bases on sensitive issues:  
_**WARNING: PORTIONS OF THIS CHAPTER AND/OR STORY CONTAIN INSTANCES OF FLASHBACKS THAT CONTAIN THE SUGGESTED THEME OF NEAR SEXUAL ASSAULT. THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE YOUNGER THAN 16, OR WHO MAY BE TRIGGERED BY SUCH REFERENCES. YOU READ AT YOUR OWN RISK…**_

* * *

INERTIA

10.

-(*)-

*E.D.W.A.R.D*

_-(*)-_

"Isabella!" I said, gathering her wrists tightly in my grip. "Bella, stop fighting!"

Bella's struggles stopped immediately, and her open eyes bore into mine, the terror in her panoptic eyes scanning my face. Her breathing was erratic, and her hands were shaking under my fingers.

"Bella," I whispered. "I didn't mean to scare you so badly. Are you alright?" I asked, letting her wrists go and placing my hands on either side of her face.

"What are you _doing_, Edward?" Bella asked, her voice cracking and shaking with both relief and anger. "I thought you were Mi-_somebody else_!" Her hand flew to her heart.

"I'm sorry! I just-I'm sorry," I apologized, ghosting my hand down her cheek, under her chin, and lifting her face up to look me in the eyes. "Tell me you forgive me for my lapse in judgment, Isabella."

Her eyes still reflected traces of anger, but her mouth twitched into a small smile, and her hands came up to swing around my neck. My hand fell from her chin and wound tightly around her slim waist.

"Tell me what you're doing in here, first. This is a girls' bathroom, Edward." She smiled, bringing her lips closer to mine.

I could tell she was still very much shaken by my stupid actions, but seemed really relieved to see me.

"Yes, that's true, but it's only a _single_ bathroom," I reminded her, bending down and pressing a chaste kiss on her warm lips. "And," I added, turning from her to lock the bathroom door behind me. "I plan to take _full _advantage of that small, inferior detail."

I smiled the most wicked, lustful smile I could muster as my hands found the small of her back. I pressed her roughly against me, and she moaned.

"What?"

"We only have like…ten minutes, Edward," Bella replied, her right hand falling to the material of my tuxedo jacket. "And you like to play slowly," she chuckled.

I laughed, and then bent down to kiss her bare shoulder with small, chaste kisses. I looked back up at her through my long lashes and smiled, again.

"I promise to be quick. Besides, all you have to do is stand here and look beautiful," I told her, bending beside her to grab a towel off the vanity top. "I'll be the one getting dirty."

I kissed her again. This time, my lips opened hers and she moaned against me. I hesitantly broke the kiss and threw the towel to the floor, spreading the terrycloth material out with my shoe.

"Edward, what…?" Bella started to ask.

I shook my head and smiled, then fell to my knees in front of her on the towel. I gazed up at her face once more. My hands fell to the hem of her long white dress, which fell around her ankles. I looked back down to my hands on the hem, and pulled up lightly on her dress. I felt her hand graze up my shoulder as I lifted the material of her dress over my head, ducking inside the warm tent between fabric and soft skin. I heard her gasp softly as my hands ran up the backs of her calves, inching up slowly, tantalizing her with my fingertips. I could see the white cloud of her panties from the V between her legs as my head went further under her dress. I curved my hands around her outer thighs, nudging her softly to open her legs wider for me.

"Edward." I heard her exclaim softly. Her hands fell from my shoulder as the dress came down around them.

Her legs automatically parted, allowing my fingers to ghost up over her hips and downward, pressing into her soft flesh with my fingers as I felt her heat. I reached up and pressed my palms to either side of her hips, looping my thumbs into the elastic band of her panties and pulling them slowly down her baby-soft legs.

I felt her tense up as my fingertips drifted lazily back up her inner thighs, my nails pressing into her softly. I scooted forward a little, and angled my face upward toward her radiating heat, my lips nearing her nether lips as my hands glided over her pubic hair and onto each thin hip, effectively shifting her closer to my face as my hands wrapped around to rest on each ass cheek. My tongue darted from my salivated mouth and pressed into her core, eliciting a throaty groan from Bella as I moved my tongue flatly against her sex, licking her deep as I ascended. When I got to the top of her slit, my mouth hungrily sucked in her clit. She tasted sweet and salty, and her legs bowed wider, opening her further for me as my mouth sucked on her studiously. Bella groaned again, pressing the top of my head with her hands through the fabric of her dress. I lifted a finger to help her pleasure, when a quick knock on the door made Bella gasp and pull back, leaving me alone on the floor with my finger raised, and my ego bruised.

"Bella? Are you still in there? Charlie wants to start the show," Alice's voice called through the door. "Come on!"

Bella cleared her throat, and replied with a quick, "Yes. I'm coming."

There was no reply as we stood there waiting for one. Finally, still on my knees, I palmed my face and exclaimed sharply. "Fuck!"

Bella lifted her panties and fixed her dress, then shot me a glare from under her lashes.

"Told you we only had a few minutes," she said, walking forward and helping me to my feet. "You said you'd be quick."

"Nothing's quick with you," I told her, pulling her firmly against me and kissing her roughly on the lips. "Just a minor delay, that's all," I murmured against her lips. "When I get you home, there will be nobody to save you from my mouth, my fingers, or anything else I choose to use to play with you."

She laughed against my lips.

"You are a liar, though, Isabella," I told her, pulling back from her face.

"Mmm…how so?"

I leaned close to her ear and whispered softly, "You _aren't_ coming. But you _will _be if I have any say." I pulled her lips back to mine and shaped myself to her tightly.

I felt her smile against my lips and pull away. I reached behind me to unlock the bathroom door, opening it and sticking my head out to see if anyone was around. The hallway was empty; the only sounds were coming from the lobby. I pulled myself from the bathroom, and waited until Bella was behind me before heading into the lobby of the gallery. I licked my lips with automation, her taste still lingering on them, making them salty-sweet in flavor.

"Well, later we can try your dancing moves. You are going to dance with me, right?" I smiled, pulling her hand into mine.

"Of course, Mr. 'I don't dance'. If you make a fool of yourself, you can always blame me," Bella retorted playfully.

"It's nearly impossible to blame you for anything, Isabella. Let's just hope I don't step on your dress and accidentally rip it off your body," I smiled. "Second thought, let's hope like hell that _does_ happen. Your Dad will have to murder me later for my _stiff _reaction," I chuckled, playing the mental image in my head and already getting hard.

"Rose will kick your ass, it's her dress."

"Ah, even more reason to rip the damn thing off. Either way, whether it's the hard way or the easy way, that dress is coming off you, later. I'm not opposed to the hard way…yes, I quite like the hard way."

She laughed and lifted her lips to kiss under my chin. I kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand softly.

"There's Alice," Bella pointed to the back right corner of the lobby.

I latched onto Bella's elbow and guided her through the throng of people until we finally managed to reach the spot next to Alice and Jasper. Emmett, I saw, was standing a few feet away, with Rose, his arm around her shoulders. I looked at Bella in confusion, but she just smiled and shook her head.

I took a fleetingly amused look at the horror on Bella's face, and then looked ahead at Charlie, who had walked to the mike.

"You promised to make an excuse to take me away, Edward," she teased, completely mortified at the thought of her dad making a scene, no matter how big or small. "Use your 'lips of steel,' or something."

"Sorry, Bells. Would you like me to ease your tension?" I whispered huskily into her ear, my hand running down the back of her dress and cupping her ass. "That can definitely be arranged."

She laughed a sexy, little giggle, and then went silent as her father started to speak.

**-(*)-**

***B_E_L_L_A***

_**-(*)-**_

"Welcome to Quileute! " Charlie started, speaking into the squeaking microphone, and waiting for the applause that waved through the lobby to end. "Thank you, thank you. As you know, the art show is usually held at the Art Center, but Mr. Yorkie and Ms. Weber have given us the rare opportunity to have this year's show at my gallery opening. Thank you for that, you two," Charlie said, turning from the mike and nodding to the two of them, standing right beside him.

"God, kill me now," I muttered to Edward, who smiled and squeezed my hand as the crowd applauded.

Charlie turned back around and smiled, continuing on with his speech.

"Art is close, and has always been close, to my family. I tried to instill art in my daughter, Isabella." He smiled in my direction. "From a very early age, I always knew she had potential, and it was proven so this afternoon." He pointed at me with his finger, and his mustached face turned up into a huge grin.

"Oh, shit. Here we go," I groaned, frowning at the people who turned to look at me, smiles plastered on their gentile, porcelain faces.

"Relax, Bella," Edward mouthed, squeezing my butt lightly. I relaxed infinitesimally.

Charlie moved to the side of the mike as the crowd's applause simultaneously came to an end, and motioned for me to join him.

"My daughter," he started once more as I let go of Edward's hand, and he hesitantly let go of my ass, and made my way through the bodies of people, regretting even showing up tonight with this little show-and-tell Dad was putting on. "She recently passed her art finals! She will officially be just like her dear old Dad," he said proudly, watching me with admiration and fatherly love as I finally managed to make it up beside him. He hugged me tightly and whispered that he was proud of me into my ear.

My eyes immediately flung to Edward's, who looked rather amused at my stony expression. I smiled at him and he winked, crossing his arms and chuckling slightly at my obvious awkwardness. Edward knew that he had some hand in helping me pass my finals, and he knew how much this meant to me, simply for the fact that it made my father a very happy man.

"Now, after we see all the pieces in the gallery, and get some refreshments, there will be another announcement later, then dancing until midnight, so please enjoy your 'selves!" Charlie beamed; his arm still hung around my shoulders.

The crowd began to dissipate, and I really just wanted to fucking get back to Edward. Better yet, I really, really wanted his lips on me again. Holy shit, he pretty much had made me feel horny just by that sexy little wink he had given to me.

"Go have fun with Rose, Bella," Dad said, people surrounding us to talk to him about some of the matured art pieces, and perhaps, offer money for his foundation to bring art to needy schools. "Business calls, but I'm not done with you yet, so stay close."

_Fuck. There go my plans to have my carpet cleaned…with Edward's mouth._

"Sure, Dad," I said, hugging him, and then turning around to walk back through the crowd toward Edward and his '_lips of steel.'_

Or I would have, if he were around anywhere.

My eyes searched and scanned, but there was no sign of Edward anywhere that I could see. I walked back to the corner where I last saw Alice, but she was gone, too. I cocked my eyebrow and turned around with my hands on my hips.

"He was here a minute ago…" I muttered absently, my eyes still actively scanning faces of people who passed.

I backed up a step to avoid the people walking in front of me, and bumped into somebody from behind. I smiled a small smile, an 'aha, gotcha' smile, and turned, fully intent on seeing his perfect features obstructing my vision. However, the person behind me was one I wished to _never_, ever see as long as my heart still beat. My smile faded rapidly and was replaced by a liquid frown.

"I know where he is, Bella," Mike said, a cocky grin on his face as he held a glass of wine in his hand. "But, I wouldn't want to know if I were you."

I swallowed hard, and instinctually crossed my arms over my breasts. This was the first time in nearly five years that I had seen his face up close. He still wore those cocky lips, and his eyes were still the same piercing, shocking shade of blue that they were back then. His face was unkempt; waxy skin, and oily hair. He snickered as he caught the fear in my eyes. He took a sip of his wine and winked at me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in a soft, mechanical voice, watching as he licked his lips.

"Aw, Bella! Is that any way to greet an ex-boyfriend whom you haven't seen in…what? _Five years_?" He shook his head and closed his eyes briefly. "Actually, I was invited. I always get invited to do these things, Bella," he said, his implications in this last sentence clear and obvious.

"Where is Edward?" I demanded, watching as his eyes traveled down the outline of my dress, to the curve of my hips, and the slight outline of the V between my fabric-covered legs.

"I told you, already. You don't want to know. It's a shame about his painting, isn't it? Oops," Mike said, shrugging his shoulders and smirking. "How clumsy of me to ruin such a beautiful painting."

"Where is he?" I repeated, my voice rising slightly in irritation.

"Curiously," he said, not bothering to answer my question, "he wasn't too upset with me about the painting. Well, at least not when he was asking me how I got to touch you all over. How you _let_ me," Mike scoffed, holding up his glass and gazing at the tepid liquid before taking a deep sip of his wine, again.

"I didn't," I defended, trying to peer away from his gaze. "Edward never asked you anything, you're a liar!" I shoved at him, my face flicking upward in defiance.

"Feisty. Why couldn't you be this way the night you teased me, Bella?" He smiled and walked forward until he was an inch away from my body. "I like it when you fight back. Makes it much more arousing, don't you think?" His breath stunned my face.

I looked around at the people passing us, but they seemed to be in a world of their own, possibly thinking that this interaction was good-willed and innocent. I wasn't going to hang around and listen to Mike's fleeting, egotistical brutal lies anymore. I turned from him and started to walk away. Mike shot his hand out and latched forcefully onto my wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?" he said angrily. "I'm not done talking to you, yet."

"I think we're done here," I told him. "Get your dirty, filthy rapist hands off of me."

"I never raped you! I never did!" He seethed, gripping my wrist even harder.

"You tried, you scumbag. If Rose didn't hear me scream…" I trailed off.

"You fucking teased me that night, and you know it! You wanted it more than I did. It's not my fault you have some real fucking issues letting someone fuck you. Your new beau had to ask me how to get you to let him fuck you, Bella. He's no better than I am, if you think about it."

"Where is Edward, Mike? Don't make me make a scene."

He looked around cautiously, then let go of my wrist and clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"I wasn't kidding when I said you probably didn't want to know. You are such a stubborn bitch, Isabella Swan. I don't want to hear your boo-hooing shit, either. I warned you."

"Thanks for the warning. Where is he?"

"I saw Angela Weber talking to him, and then I watched them go into the supply closet in the hallway," he said, clearly amused at the knowledge.

"Goodbye, Mike," I told him placidly, turning from him with a burning in my heart.

"Oh, this isn't goodbye, Isabella," I heard him murmur as I walked briskly through the crowd.

Past the vast lobby, I could see the lights of the hallway had dimmed some, reflecting partial shadows against the doors that were closed on either side of the hall. I walked briskly until I came to the end of the hall, my back to the lobby, and stepped into the narrow walkway. Down three doors, in the most shadowed area, was the supply closet. My hands numbly reached for the doorknob, but stopped when I heard loud shouting erupting from the two people inside.

"You try to pull that off, Angie, and you will be signing your own resignation! Pulling a fucking stunt like that at her father's opening? Are you mentally retarded?" I heard Edward yell.

"It's not a stunt if it's true, Edward. Look at this picture! It's her!" Angela's voice muttered.

"Angela, there is just a slight problem with all of this; the fact you dragged me in here, the fact you are showing me this shit…it's all for nothing, Angela," Edward replied nastily, a thump issuing from the other side of the door.

"Why is that? Does she mean that little to you, Edward? You going to throw her away just like you did to me?"

"Not at all. It's because I already know it's Bella, Ang. I already fucking _know_."

My breathing sped up, and my hand slid off the doorknob.

_What are they talking about? What picture?_

_I certainly had no clue…but, I would find out._

I put my ear to the door in hopes of hearing the conversation more clearly, not knowing that soon, once their conversation ended, I would be the one with the questions.

**-(*)-**

***E_D_W_A_R_D***

**-(*)-**

"What the fuck are you talking about? How can you know? You _can't _know! You said before you didn't know!" Angie replied exasperatedly. "Look at this!" She shoved one of the pictures that Alice had shown me yesterday, the one that I discarded on the floor.

"So?" I shrugged, looking at the picture, but making no attempt to touch it. "I know all about those, I am the one who flung them where you found them. What the hell are you doing, anyway? Didn't I tell you to keep your ass out of my studio?" My eyes narrowed, and I sneered.

"That's not the point, Edward. I think you are misreading my fucking hint. I've seen them together before, Edward," Angie emphasized, her eyes locking onto mine with trivial awareness.

My attentiveness became peaked as Angie's eyes silently provided me with uneasiness.

"Yeah? They used to go together, I'm sure you have, Angie," I said, pursing my lips in impatience. "Bella is probably wondering where the fuck I went."

"Edward, it's _her_." She held the picture up eye-level, and pointed to the picture. "From-"

"I _know_. I already _know _it," I repeated, my fingers coming up to run through my hair. "Somebody already beat you to it. You're here to make me feel guilty, Angie, and it won't work."

"So then you know that-"Angie started to say.

My fist balled up at my side, and I struggled to contain the anger welling inside me. "I know more than you give me credit for, Angela," I replied.

"And you're not the least bit concerned about her well-being?" she asked me, pulling the picture away from me and shaking her head. "I-"

Angela's next sentence was cut off by an audible thump that seemingly echoed from the other side of the closed door. Both Angie and I turned our heads sharply toward the door and quieted our movements.

"What the hell was that?" Angie whispered, looking up at me.

All I could do was shake my head at her and shrug, my hand jutting out to close over the silver knob of the door. I listened carefully, but heard nothing further. I took my hand off the knob and turned to Angie. My hand reached out to grab the picture from her hand roughly, my other hand pulling her toward my body. This was no intimate spooning moment.

"You ever pull a stunt like this again, making me follow you into some small, dirty closet, we will have one major problem, Angela," I told her, my teeth grinding down hard. "This picture…." I held it up to her face. "This is your bargaining chip. I'm not fucking stupid."

"There's got to be something you don't know in all this, Edward. I'm going to find out what it is. I'm like you, Edward. I get what I want from someone by manipulation. Isn't that what you do?" Angie smiled, clearly loving the rough contact against her body. "You're a million faces, Edward. Which one hasn't she seen yet?"

I roughly pulled her face to mine and opened her mouth with mine, scraping my teeth against her bottom lip. She gasped out a laugh. I reached back with the hand still holding the photo and tugged her hair. My lips left her lips and traveled up to her ear.

"Manipulation wears off, Angie-being a cold, heartless fucking tramp who blackmails painters for sex because they harbor something they wish they could undo, _never_ wears off," I whispered, pushing her head and body away from me with a quick jerk of my hand, so that she flew into the wall behind her.

"What is it about her, Edward? After all this—after knowing what happened to that girl, why are you _still_ picking her?" Angie asked, righting herself straight.

I looked at Angie and debated telling her to go to hell, but something in me urged to tell the truth. I sighed, shoved the picture in my tux pocket, and gazed at Angie solemnly.

"Because I love her," I replied truthfully. "Nothing in her past could make me love her less. _Nothing_."

"You can't say the same for yourself, Edward. You know if she finds out what you know, _what you did_, that your past will be the reason you _can't_ love her," Angie said, no trace of condescension in her voice.

"I know," I said so softly that I was sure it was more to myself than to her.

I turned around and opened the door. Walking past the threshold of the doorway a little, I stopped when I heard my name being called. I turned my face to the right, and felt a hand belt sharply across my face, rocking me back on my heels and into the supply room. I pushed my hands out to break the rapid decline of my body. I looked up to see Bella hovering in front of me, her eyes an electrical shade of pissed. Tears had crept down her face, ruining the porcelain tone of her skin and smudging the makeup around her eyes.

"Bella, what the hell-?" I started, trying to ignore the stinging across my cheek.

Before I could finish the sentence, however, Bella turned quickly and ran down the hallway, and out of sight.

"Bella!" I shouted. "Bella, wait!" I yelled, getting myself straightened and attempting to head off to chase her down.

I felt Angie grab onto my tux jacket and pull it roughly. "Let her go, Edward."

I turned irately to Angie, the stinging on my face becoming less ignorable.

"She heard us," I told Angie, who had my sentiments written in her face, too. "She heard me talking about her in here!"

"She has no idea what you were talking about, Edward. She only knows it was about her. It could have been anything," Angie said, shrugging.

"She wouldn't have heard anything if you would have just kept you're fucking vindictive ass home! You fuck everything up!" I yelled at her.

I turned from her and quickly ran down the hall. I had to find Bella before she got too far away, and had time to think about this. I ran into the crowd of people and dodged my way across the vast lobby as the lights dimmed down. I was right at the double glass doors, convinced she'd left, when a hand reached out and pulled me lightly to the side.

"She's gone," A voice said, loud and rough.

I turned my head to see Rose frown at me.

"Where'd she go? What do you mean 'she's gone'?" I asked frantically.

"Someone took her home. I got to admit, I thought you would fuck up sometime, but not this soon," Rose said, taking her hand off my arm.

"Who took her home?" I demanded. "You're her friend! Shouldn't you have taken her?"

"Emmett said he would drop her off, so relax. What the fuck did you do to her, Masen? Fuck and duck? Hit it and quit it?" Rose sneered, her face in bitch-mode.

"I didn't-"I started.

Rose's facial expression changed at something behind me. I turned my body to follow her gaze. My heart instantly dropped. Emmett was walking toward us, keys in his hand. He joined us, and frowned at me.

"Dude, what the fuck did you do to that chick?" Emmett asked. "She was a mess."

"Em, how long did it take you to drop her off? You just left!" Rose asked, turning to the big idiot who shrugged.

"Some dude offered to take her home. He said he knew her, and she agreed. She said it was fine… Why? Was that wrong?" Emmett shrugged and scratched his head with his keys.

The horror of what he had just revealed poured out of me in waves. I was about to whack the shit out of him when Rose shook his shoulder hard.

"Who, Emmett? Who did she go home with?"

"That dude from your studio, Ed. Mike something-or-other…He said he'd take her home, and she said yeah. Did I do something?"

The next thing I saw was Rose removing her high-heels, and running in a flash through the thinning crowd, and out of the glass doors.

"Stay here!" I told Emmett, running in the same direction as Rose.

I burst through the glass doors and down the stone steps, onto the sidewalk. I could see Rose running down the walk, and started running after her, the bounding of my feet slapping against the concrete. I caught up to Rose a few seconds later, out of breath and confused.

"Rose-Rose, what's going on?"

"Get in," she commanded, running around her Turbo parked on the street. She hurried into the driver's side and flung open the passenger side door.

I flung myself in and shut the door just as Rose pulled away from the curb, peeling her tires as she went.

"What the hell is going on here, Rose?" I said, holding onto the dash for dear life as she sped up.

"What did you do to her?" She demanded, gripping the steering wheel with firm pressure.

"Angie cornered me about those fucking pictures, and she tried to tell me it was Bella that night, but obviously I already knew that," I told her. "She heard us talking, I guess. What's going on, Rose?"

"We have to get to her, quickly, Edward. Trust me," Rose replied, turning slightly to meet my eyes.

The words I meant to speak to her flew out of my mouth as she made a hairpin turn. The red light in front of us—the same one Bella and I had stopped at this afternoon—turned, and she raced on through the intersection.

"You are going to kill us!" I roared.

"Who do you want to save more? Yourself or Bella?"

"Save?"

Another hairpin turn and all thoughts were lost in inertia.

* * *

*What a turn, eh? Everything will be revealed soon...promise :) You guys thought it was Mike...don't be surprised to see him try this again with Bella...will anybody be there to help her out?

*I have started a new fic called "Midnight Dream Astrid" and plan to start another one after Christmas called "Broken Whispers"...you can get more information on this particular fic at the end of next chapter...that one will be NC17 as well. All fics will be updated January 15th! See ya then!


	11. Everything Changes Turn back the years

A/N:

***This chapter contains overlaps. This means quick points of view that bounce between Edward and Bella.**

***Thanks to my Beta, Susie, who is always amazing at keeping my ass in line with punctuation and grammar.**

***Song is by Staind, and it is a sad song that fits so fucking well with this chapter. Enjoy.**

***NEW Fic starting 01/15/2011. Make sure you have me on author alert!**

* * *

EVERYTHING CHANGES (TURN BACK THE YEARS)

11

* * *

Covering my bases on sensitive issues:

DEEP SHIT AHEAD...

**WARNING: THIS STORY AND/OR CHAPTER MAY CONTAIN INSTANCES OF NEAR SEXUAL ASSUALT IN THE FORM OF FLASHBACKS. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 16, OR IF THINGS OF THIS NATURE TRIGGER YOU, PLEASE USE CAUTION. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK...**

* * *

-(*)-

*E_D_W_A_R_D*

_-(*)-_

_**If you just walked away**_

_**What could I really say?**_

_**Would it matter anyway?**_

_**Would it change how you feel?**_

_**I am the mess you choose**_

_**The closet you cannot close**_

_**The devil in you I suppose**_

_**'Cause the wounds never heal**_

_**But everything changes**_

_**If I could**_

_**Turn back the years**_

_**If you could**_

_**Learn to forgive me**_

_**Then I could learn to feel**_

* * *

The tires screeched passively as we rounded a sharp curve in the road, Rose's face was pale and consequently panicked as she still firmly gripped the steering wheel. I was coward against the passenger seat, my body being thrown against the leather material of the sports car with every turn she made. I made several attempts to speak, but every time, the car would speed on through the dark and I would be whacked forward against the dash, making it impossible to speak. Roses' face worried me. She was driving like hell, and her face never once wavered from the paved lines of the road, or the sharp hairpins the car made. The little bit of jumbled thoughts that raced in my mind were of her ingenious look when she asked who I wanted to save more. It was a peculiar question. Mike had offered to take her home. What was so bad about that? Sure, they had dated, and the jealous asshole in me didn't find comfort in this fact, there was nothing that connected my brain to this kind of reaction. Perhaps it was the crazy ass driving of Rose, or maybe, just maybe, in the back of my mind it was that I didn't really want to think of it; think of what Rose had clearly wanted to silently say. It just didn't click at the moment.

"We're almost there," Rose said, breaking my concentration (what little I had). "You will be closest to the door. When I pull up, get out and go," she said, taking her hand and shifting the car into third gear.

"Want to tell me what the fuck is going on here, Rose?" I turned to her, gripping the dash for support as she rolled on through a stop sign. "Mike took her home. Big fucking deal."

Rose laughed without humor. "'_Big fucking deal'_? You bet your ass it's a 'big fucking deal', Edward," she replied, shaking her head. "You have to trust me. You can't let her alone with him."

I looked away from Rose, and the instant that last sentence of hers seeped into my mind-fucked brain, I grasped the horrible, unadulterated truth. I slunk back into the seat and pushed my hand through my hair trying to stop the feeling of wanting to retch all over her leather interior. Mike mother-fucking Newton? Bella? It kicked in my head like a bullet bursting through my brain; painful and full of infliction. _He _was the one responsible for that night. _He _was the one who was with her in the darkened studio while she screamed. _He_ is the one who made Bella the way she is...

"No," I whispered. "Not Bella."

"Yeah, Edward. Bella. I walked in on them. He looked right at me," she said, her hands tightening on the wheel as she remembered. "His fucking eyes peered right at me through the dark. I watched him release her wrists and run out the back of the studio like the fucking cowardly creep he really is," she finished as she looked sideways at me from the corner of her eyes. "Sorry to be the one to tell you."

I was quiet for a brief moment, and then, "I'll fucking kill him."

Now Rose laughed. She straightened in her seat and pointed to the street down from my studio. We were here. Rose stopped the car, her brakes screeching against the macadam in protest. As soon as the car stopped completely, I threw the passenger open and ran onto the sidewalk, down the walk that lead to her glass door. I could see lights on in her apartment from the door and windows.

"Bella!" I yelled, pounding on the glass with my fists. I didn't give a right shit if I broke the glass for a second time or not. "Isabella!"

I heard a sound behind me, and then Rose's fingers pushing at the buttons of the alarm. The beep of the alarm had me pushing the door open, slamming it back against the wall. Rose was right behind me as we shouted Bella's name. I ran into the living room, but it was deserted, except for the shoes Bella had been wearing tonight, which were strewn on the couch. My breathing stopped momentarily before me paraplegic body finally acted and I ran through her kitchen.

"Rose? Her shoes are in the living room, she has to be here somewhere," I shouted.

Rose shouted to me from a room behind the kitchen. I jogged quickly to where her voice came. It was a bedroom-Bella's-and Rose was leaning over the bed.

"Rose?"

"Edward, she's not here," she said softly, picking something off the bed and hugging it to her body. "She was here, but she's gone."

She turned around and held up something that filtered in the light from the lamps on either side of her bed.

"Is that-?" I started.

On the white dress Bella wore this evening was a deep, red stain across the middle, there were swatches of deep magenta all around the stain.

"Blood," Rose confirmed.

* * *

-(*)-

*B_E_L_L_A*

_-(*)-_

_**Sometimes the things I say**_

_**In moments of disarray**_

_**Succumbing to the games we play**_

_**To make sure that it's real**_

_**But everything changes**_

_**If I could**_

_**Turn back the years**_

_**If you could**_

_**Learn to forgive me**_

_**Then I could learn to feel**_

_**When it's just me and you**_

_**Who knows what we could do**_

_**If we can just make it through**_

_**The toughest part of the day**_

* * *

I sat with the light on, looking at my hands in the tinted light as if there was no skin on them. The red tinged my fingertips and flowed downward toward my wrists, drying slightly from the heat emanating from the light fixtures; my eyes scanned absently to the walls and ceiling. I was lying on my back, the silence permeating around me. I turned my head to the right and grasped out to my hand and picked up the broken mess beside me. The tears came without shame, running down my cheek and splashing on the table underneath my body. I didn't want to move; I didn't want my body to be frozen with the paralyzing truth, but there was no other way around it. My hand hit the smooth roughness, my fingers gliding down until the frayed edges ended, causing me to bring my hand back close to my body and sob silently.

My memories led me back to the night we danced, how careless and free it seemed, in that moment, to be swaying in Edward's arms, looking into his liquid-onyx eyes as we twirled. My mind flashed to the small, but needy kisses and the way his eyes lifted to mine when he lifted my chin. As my mind drifted to the studio this afternoon, and the willingness to give into my own desires, the last bit of my sanity seemed to crumble, adding to the cataclysm that seemed to make my body numb. I thought I could trust Edward with everything, that he would tell me the truth about everything. But, obviously, that wasn't the case. I only heard part of the conversation in the closet; a snippet of Edward's true selfishness.

I didn't know how much he knew-the _extent _to which he knew-but he did know. He knew of what happened to me four years ago, and so did Angie. In that moment of eavesdropping, I figured out that there was a reason for Edward's admissions of fucking Angie here and there. He had once told me that it was something he _had_ to do, but not necessarily what he _wanted_ to do. He had told me that she had something on him, blackmailing of sorts. It was clear as I lay on my back, my eyes closing with vague tiredness, that the blackmailing she held on him was information on me. Edward knew, which meant he did nothing that night. Destroying the small amount of happiness I had come to feel in four years with the realization that Edward Masen was responsible for my fucked up, illogical reactions to men getting close to me. I had let Edward in, and he had lied to me, hiding things from me that I had every right to know. The question was not if I deserved to know, it was if I was really prepared to handle it.

Clearly, as I sobbed once again, I was not.

The last but most hurtful of everything, was that Edward had to ask Mike, the man who almost took my will with him when he nearly raped me, how he could get into my pants. It made me feel dirty to know that the man who put his filthy, dirty motherfucking hands on me talked to the man I fell in love with, and told him how to do it. Edward had said he would wait for me, for however long it took, but, just like he did with everything else, he lied. He wanted to have sex with me, and knowing full well I wasn't ready for that level at that moment, he took advantage of me, of my crumbling, disheveled will and made me give in. Having sex with Edward Masen was the biggest mistake I ever made...even compared to dating Michael Newton? Could that be possible?

_Michael Newton._

I groaned again at the name as the fresh sobs caught in my throat. I turned on my side and wretched my eyes shut. I pressed my fingers to my wrist. The throbbing pain crept up my arm and I winced. He still had a grip of a gorilla, and his pressure had dug into my wrist, making purplish bruises slowly fade in on my milky white skin. I opened my eyes and trailed my fingers away from the bruise, letting my fingers trail to the broken wood frame that rested close to my head. My fingers reached out to the painted onyx eye on the torn canvas.

Part of me went back to the night Edward was drunk, and had asked me if someone had done something to me. My lie was because the look in his eyes was one of someone hoping it wasn't the case. Nobody wants damaged goods, you know. Nobody wants to be the one to date the 'recluse' or the 'broken' girl who was someone's play toy. I had listened to the conversation between Angela and him, and felt my heart drop to the floor. How long had he known? How long had he kept it secret? How long had he played the part of the 'boyfriend who had no idea'? But in the end, it didn't really matter what the answer to those questions were...it only mattered that he had a hand in what happened to me.

I had heard him calling after me as I fled, which is what I do best, flee and avoid, but it changed nothing within me to hear his voice say my name. There was no real comfort this time in it. It was a reaction to getting caught, and not about anything else.

If I could turn back the years, make everything disappear; Mike, me, that night...Edward...everything, I would in a _heartbeat_ and not regret the decision to do so. Would it really _matter?_ But then, I supposed anything was better than lying on a table, crying about the mess in my life, wondering if the man I had fallen in love with-the man I gave a chance to-really did love me the same way in return. Liars put masks up; unfaltering in their characters, playing parts that they really didn't really want.

I dropped the painted canvas that held the onyx eye, watching it flitter to the floor with a small clank as it settled. I covered my face with the palm of my hand and cried silently, feeling all the regret and all the hurt swell inside me, making a knot in my belly.

Edward Masen would never hurt me again. He would never lie to me or touch me ever again. I felt the love that I saved for him; for what he gave me in the time we knew each other fall away from me. I figured, anyway, that Edward would walk away from me eventually, considering the circumstances and my past. For what he did, what he _knew_ was bad, but what I did, letting him inside my heart, inside my _world_, was worse.

_Everything had changed..._

* * *

-(*)-

*E_D_W_A_R_D*

_-(*)-_

_**But everything changes**_

_**If I could**_

_**Turn back the years**_

_**If you could**_

_**Learn to forgive me**_

_**Then I could**_

_**Learn how to feel**_

_**Then we could**_

_**Stay here together**_

_**And we could**_

_**Conquer the world**_

_**If we could**_

_**Say that forever**_

_**Is more than just a word**_

* * *

I squinted speculatively at the stain one the dress, my finger reaching out to scratch at the stain with my fingernail. I recognized the stain upon further investigation.

"Hold on a second," I said, bringing my eyes slowly up to meet Rose's. "This isn't blood."

"Then what the fuck is it?" Rose demanded, though her voice filled with relief. "Sure the hell_ looks_ like blood."

"Its magenta paint," I told her as I lifted my head toward the hall. "The studio," I whispered.

"Where are you going?" Rose asked, following me as I started toward the door.

"The paint on the dress is oil," I explained, turning toward Rose and rolling my eyes in irritation. "You can tell from the way it dried. Oil dries solidly."

"And?"

"And Bella only owns, uses, and swears by watercolors. The oil paints are mine. I use them all the time, and I can spot my paint anywhere. I know where she is," I told her, comparatively matching her tone as she rolled her eyes in turn.

"I'll come, too." Rose tried to walk past me, but my arm jutted out to stop her. "If you want to keep that arm, Masen, I'd move it."

"Please," I asked her softly. "Please let me do this alone. Let me fix this, like I wanted to in the first place," I told her, my face pleading and my eyes deep as I lowered my arm.

"I doubt she wants to talk to you."

"Then why is she at my studio?" I raised my eyebrows. "Please, Rose?"

She sighed deeply, but nodded. "I don't know, Edward. Maybe she's there for the sheer fun of it," she replied mockingly. "You make sure you call me if she's there. I don't want to have to worry the entire night of her whereabouts."

"I will call you right away," I said, turning from her and walking out of the open glass door. "Thank you, Rose."

"I really hope she understands whatever you tell her. I doubt Bella will be in the mood to listen to you, though."

"I know," I said softly. "And I hope so, too."

"Good luck," Rose said as I started down the walk toward my studio.

The lukewarm air swirled around me as I walked briskly along the lit street, the streetlamps sending shards of light into my path as I made my way to the studio. I had no idea what I would say to her when I got there, but I knew relief would wafer through me. There were the questions, like what happened with Mike, how she got into my studio, and what was with the paint on the dress-but there would also be answers. I would have to risk telling her the truth, risk her leaving me. I wouldn't lie about anything to her anymore. There was one thing that I would do if I got the chance. Michael Newton's ass belonged to me. I would fuck him up; make him look like a Picasso painting by the time I was done for what he did to Bella. There was still the question of what had happened on her ride home with him. At the thought, my pace quickened tersely as I saw the familiar facades of the buildings around me, letting me know that I was very close. I passed Jake's, the lights, music and laughter filtering out into the street, making the wind melodic and the shadows psychedelically bright.

I moved quickly on until I could see the glass doors of my studio. The light inside was dim, but noticeable. This gave me some hope, because I had, for a fact, turned the lights off before leaving to conserve energy. I reached for the door and opened it hesitantly, part of me wanting to put off what I would inevitably be faced with. I took a deep breath, said a silent prayer that she would understand, and walked inside, letting the door close with a brief snap.

"Isabella?" I called out into the dimly lit parlor. "Are you here?"

I looked around and could see the office lights on, and just beyond that, under the closed door of my studio, a small, innocuous light. I stepped in through the office and stood at the door, my hand resting against the cold wood, and placed my ear to the door. I could hear nothing but muffled acoustics through the wood. I sighed and slid my hand to the knob. Carefully, I cracked the door open and slipped my head in the doorway.

"Bella?" I called again. My eyes scanned the room, and there, on the table in which we made love this afternoon, Bella lay curled, her cheek on the table, and her sobs echoing softly in the dim light of the studio. "Bella, I'm so-"

"Don't come any closer, Edward. Don't you dare," she commanded thickly, her voice filled with tearful hoarseness.

"Please at least give me a chance to explain," I begged of her, moving closer despite her request.

So quickly, so that she was almost a blur, she rolled on her back and lifted her body, dangling her legs over the edge of the table. Her eyes were very red, and her clothing, which consisted of black yoga pants and a white tank top, were marred in paint, much like the stain on the dress. She reached her pale, painted hands to her eyes and wiped them.

"Edward," she said, putting her hand up to stop my advancement. "All you seem to do is explain. I don't want to hear your lies anymore."

I stopped my movements and stilled; my hands went to my hair and my fingers wrapped into the strands in agitation. I knew this would be difficult, I just thought she'd give me the reservation to explain.

"I didn't lie to you, not really," I told her. "No, listen! I didn't lie to you, Isabella. I held it in, made it a secret that I knew, but I never lied to you, Bella. Not about this."

She laughed without humor. "You knew it was me...the one from four years ago. You never bothered to think that I might have wanted to know that you were responsible for my fucking issues? You knew and kept it from me. I don't know what the hell your definition of lying is, but it's what you did." She turned from me and put her palms down on the table and hung her head.

"I didn't know that it was you that Angie walked in on until this afternoon when Rose told me!" I defended, watching as she shook her head.

"Rose?"

"Rose came by the studio this afternoon and told me she saw Angie that night come from the back," I explained to her as she turned to face me, fresh tears on her cheeks making my heart hurt. "I had no idea it was you."

"Did it matter who it was?" she asked, closing her eyes and rocking back and forth on her heels. "So why did you pretend everything was alright when you picked me up this afternoon instead of telling me the goddamn truth?"

I sighed and walked forward, reached for her hand. Though she let me hold it, her grasp was limp and cold. "I wanted to, but Rose talked me out of it. She said that you were happy and she didn't want to ruin it. Did you really want to relive it all again, anyway?"

"I already do," she answered softly.

"What happened on the way here?" I asked suddenly, remembering how she had gotten here in the first place. "If he fucking touched you-"

She shook her head and disengaged her hand from mine. "Emmett saw me leave with him. There's no way he'd try something with witnesses around," she explained.

"And Rose's dress?"

"It was an accident. I went home to change out of the dress once I dripped the paint on it, and came back to finish."

"Finish what?"

Instead of verbally answering me, Bella moved aside, away from the table. On the table stood pieces of a canvas, the torn bits and wooden frame smashed and slashed violently. Bella's eyes traveled sadly from the mess to my eyes.

"What is that?"

"Your painting I've been working on. I smashed it to bits, Edward. I didn't want it in my apartment anymore," she said, picking up a piece of the broken mess and hurling it at me. It's as fucked up as you are."

"But the paint-"

I watched as Bella walked past me and reached her hand to the light switch. She flicked the lights on all the way. My eyes tried to adjust to the change in brightness, but I immediately wished they hadn't. My eyes scanned my studio, and the gasp from my mouth escaped loudly. Every single painting in my studio, the finished prints, and the ones still needing to be done all had bright red oil X's all painted across their surfaces, my paints were dumped into a pile on the floor, some of which had dried, my brushes were all broken and thrown into the paint pile, and, on top of all of that were the render sketches and half completed drawing for her portrait, the one Newton ruined. Red paint dripped from the walls all around the studio, and the kiln in the corner had its temperature gauge smashed in, glass all around the floor like bullets. Glass paint jars stood broken all over the tables and the easel was overturned in the middle of the room. The only thing untouched was the table she was laying on when I came in. My disbelief took over the expression on my face.

"You destroyed my studio?" I seethed, grinding my teeth and putting my hands on top of my head. "What the fuck did you do this for?"

"Guess you should ask Mike why. I'm sure he'd love to give you more advice," she said, her voice low. "Maybe he can tell you more ways to get into my pants?"

I dropped my hands and looked at her wildly, the whole situation wearing on me. My studio would be out of commission for a while, and I was not happy. Least of all, she wouldn't listen to my explanations. Something inside me broke down, my desire to remain calm and explain things to her properly gone with the red drips on the walls. Mike was already getting his ass kicked, so I could add the fact that he told Bella about that to the total dent I would make in his ass.

I looked at her and said the first thing in my mind.

"I wouldn't have had to ask if you would have fucking stopped with the touching shit! I had no idea when you walked in the fucking door that day that you were fucked up," I spat at her, watching her face drain at my words. "Maybe he should have finished things with you! Then you wouldn't be so fucking hard to get my dick into."

Her mouth opened slightly, and the closed. She stood there a moment, and then walked around me toward the door. My eyes followed her, and I waited until she reached her hand to the door before reaching out to grab her upper arm.

"Isabella…please, forgive me for what I said, I didn't mean it," I told her softly. "I never meant for any of this to happen, I promise."

She turned her eyes to look at me and smiled a sad, disheartened smile that shook me to my marrow. Her other hand came up and pushed my hand off her arm.

"I'm just a little too fucked up for you, Edward. You don't want some fragile armature to mend and mold into something you can have without convictions. After all, you have to work hard to get your dick in me. Guess that means I'm no use to you anymore." She was crying again, now. "I'm sure Angie is still up for your games. Blackmailing you with the knowledge that it was me who called out for help?" She sobbed now, her chest heaving as she exploded into tears.

"No, you have it all wrong. "Please, Bella. Please don't walk out that door without trying to work this out…without hearing me out?" I begged her, reaching my hand to her chin like I always did when needing her eye contact. "Please, baby. We can work this out. Fuck the studio, it can be repaired, the paintings can be redone!"

"Edward…" she started.

"I fucking want and need you, Isabella Swan. And you need me. I want to be with you. I love you, and I'm sorry for what I said. Don't end it like this, Bella," I begged her, gripping her chin firmly.

Bella smiled a sad, watery smile, reached to remove my hand from her face, and then leaned in to kiss my lips in a chaste kiss.

"Goodbye, Edward," she said, turning from me, pushing on the open door and disappearing.

I don't know how long I stood there at the door, my hand reaching into nothing and wondering about all the unanswered and unexplained things that weren't addressed before my office phone rang. Mechanically, as if my body was full of concrete, I walked over and answered.

"You found her?" Rose asked sternly. "I only assume that because she just walked in totally fucked up, you moron."

I sighed and closed my eyes before answering her.

"Yeah, Rose. Then I lost her."

I hung up the phone and sat on the desk, pulling out the picture I placed in my tuxedo jacket. Bella looked so happy in the picture, not even a comparison to the way she left here a bit ago. I took the picture and bend over the side of the desk, discarding the picture, and the happy face of Bella into the trash.

If only nothing changed, and I could turn back the years...

….But everything changed and the time stood still…

* * *

*So…Mike is STILL not sporting a busted ball sac…but that is very soon to change…

*Will Edward ever talk Bella into forgiving him? Oh, ho…unexpectedness next chapter…

*This is actually my OUTTAKE version…I typed out another chapter to use for my main outline, but right before Christmas, my laptop crashed, and this was saved to my USB…

*As always, thoughts are welcomed, but please be considerate of the fact I am NOT Stephen Fucking King or Stephanie Goddamn Meyers.


	12. Everything Is Dark

_***I apologize for my month long abscence...life, ya know?**_

_***This chapter is quite possibly the crappiest chapter you have ever read, but, really, I need to get moving on my other fiction pieces. **_

_***Thanks for reading, commenting and understanding.**_

[EVERYTHING IS DARK]

12

My eyes darted infinitesimally to the rain outside the window pane, then flickered back into the empty studio. It had been two weeks since Bella walked out of here, and two weeks since I had even heard from her. I didn't expect her to just suddenly converse with me. I had hoped, as I called her apartment for the hundredth time, that she would at least pick up the phone, but she didn't. She didn't even bother to come to the upper window when I went to her apartment and stood in the rain for hours begging her to talk to me.

I stood, closed the blinds with a rapid pull of the chain, and walked over to the studio door. I turned back to look at the studio as my hand found the light switch. Everything that Bella had ruined, apart from the paintings, had been cleaned and fixed. Although the studio was back to its old self, I had shut down the studio until further notice. I would have loved to say it was because I needed time to repair the paintings or even just to take a break, but the truth always involved Bella. Something was wrong with my painting. Nothing seemed to blend or collectively work in my paintings. It seemed as if she took my talent with her that night, two weeks ago.

I was about to shut the lights off to the studio and drag myself up to my apartment so that I could secretly pull out the picture of Bella and relive what a douche bag asshole I really was, when Alice came up beside me, a serious, worried expression upon her pretty pale face.

"Edward, someone is here to see you," she said, biting her lip in worriment, and making me think of Bella again.

"Look, Alice-" I started.

"Edward, you want to, trust me," Alice interrupted, her eyes pointing to the lobby.

I sighed deeply. "Fine. This better be something important."

I followed her out of the small reception area, and back through the tiny lobby that adorned the front of the gallery.

There, in the most expensive suit I had ever laid eyes on, was Charlie Swan. His eyes looked troubled, and his face did not hold the smile that he always seemed to wear. He rarely visited my gallery, so I knew this was not a social visit.

"Mr. Swan," I greeted him, extending my hand out for him to take. "This is unexpected."

"Yes, I am aware of that, Mr. Cullen. I apologize for coming so late," he replied, shaking my hand stiffly.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, not fully intent on knowing.

He looked at me dead in the eyes, the shadows of his pupils casting them melodically. He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his gray thinning hair.

"Son, whatever you've done to make my daughter move miles away from me, you better fix it," he stated, trying to maintain normal control of his voice.

"_Miles away_?" I repeat. "What do you mean? Isn't Bella still in _Forks_?" I asked almost hysterically.

"She moved with her mother a week ago," he stated, narrowing his eyes. "She's in Florida, and I want you to go bring her back!"

"She moved _where_?" I asked rhetorically. "Florida? But why?" I tried to control my voice's volume. "Why would she just suddenly move across the country?"

"That's why I am here. I want to know, too. Son, I see the way you look at her and the way she looks at you. I know you love my daughter, and she loves you in return., so I am asking what did you do to make her run?" Charlie asked.

"Nothing," I lie softly. "We had an argument."

Argument was an understatement. I said things that I didn't mean, and now she was gone because of it. I looked at Charlie and I could see my own hurt and worriment reflecting back at me. There was a lump in my throat, and a flash of burning tears crept across my onyx eyes.

"An argument, huh?" he scoffed in disbelief. "Mr. Masen, Bella would not move thousands of miles away for a simple argument. She wouldn't even tell me why, she just packed up her stuff and moved down there."

Charlie reached into his suit jacket and produced a small white folder. Sighing, he handed it to me and frowned deeply. I looked at the cover and discovered that it was a round-trip plane ticket to Orlando, inside was a map and the address for Bella's mother.

"You bring her back here, Edward," he said gently, not bothering to be formal anymore. "You fix what you messed up and bring my daughter back here."

Tucking the ticket in my jeans pocket, I nodded solemnly and sighed.

"Yes, I guess I better fix this," I tell him.

"If you love that girl with any of the power you seem to have in your eyes, you will be on the return trip with her beside you," Charlie said. "The flight is for four thirty."

I nodded and Charlie turned and walked through the lobby and disappeared. I turned around and headed straight for Alice's desk. Moving papers around to find a pen to write down the flight number, I saw an application at the bottom of the stack of papers on her desk. The name on it is Michael Newton. Rage filled me as I grab the paper forcibly in my hands. My eyes scanned the application, and I see something that makes me smile: _his address_.

I pick up a pen from Alice's desk and scribble her a hasty note before leaving the gallery with the ticket and his address in my pocket. The rain subsided a little as I stepped outside, the wind gusting slightly so that my hair swung in the thick twirls.

It was fifteen minutes later when I pulled up to the curb and looked around. I scanned the numbers until I saw the one I was after. I turned off my car and got out. I was standing in a decrepit and shady neighborhood; trash was thrown all over the place, and the houses' paint were starting to chip and crack. The sidewalk in front of the house I was looking at was crumbled and the black railing that flanked either side was worn down and broken in places.

"What a dump," I exclaimed, my surprise beating down some of my anger. "Poor asshole."

On the side of the steps leading to the front door, I notice a sign on the busted mailbox with weeds hiding the name partially. Even though the weeds are up past the top, I can see the engraved name easily and I smile.

Right house.

I walked over and pull the weeds off the mailbox and smile wider.

_NEWTON._

There was no turning back now. I climbed the cracked steps to the front door. I raised my hand to knock, but I hesitated. Would Bella really get even more pissed off at me for doing this? Would I never get to speak to her again? Uncertainly, I lowered my hand and stood there like a moron.

Suddenly, as if someone knew that I was at the door, it flew open and I am face-to-face with Michael fucking Newton. He looked surprised to see me, but that didn't affect his natural reaction to smile. I looked at him for a second, then I watched as his hands came up to touch either side of the dirty doorjamb.

He used those fucking dirty hands on Bella, and that smile he was wearing didn't help curb the festering anger. I growled deeply, and his face took on mixed confusion and fear. My hand balled into a fist and before I could control myself, it lands with a crack against Newton's face, reeling him back into the house. I looked around quickly and stepped inside the foyer of his house and slammed the door shut with my foot.

"What are you doing?" he asked, blood from his mouth making him hard to understand.

"Paying you back," I told him. "For Bella."

Mike is too stunned to move. I bent down and pulled him up my his shirt collar and pulled him roughly against the foyer wall, making the pictures shake and fall onto the floor at our feet.

"I never touched her," he said, twisting and shaking to try to loosen my grip on him. "She's lying!"

I cracked my knuckles against his face once more and he moaned in pain as his nose started to seep crimson. I turned and slammed him against the other wall, and he groaned.

"You're a fucking liar, Newton. I was filled in on what your dirty," I punctuated that sentence by reaching my free hand down and twisting his fingers until I heard a slight crack, "filthy fucking hands did to my girlfriend."

Mike squinted in pain. "I didn't! I didn't," he protested. "She wanted it."

I punched him in the stomach, letting go of him as he slid down the wall and slumped on the dirty hardwood. I bent down and lifted his face using his hair as a handle.

"She wanted it? Is that your excuse for putting your hands on a female? For trying to _rape_ her?" I said, pulling my fist back and burying it into his face, a crunch letting me know his nose was broken on impact. "I'm not a female, Newton. I _dare_ you to put your hands on _me_."

He tried to raise his hand, but I was too quick. I reached out and bent his hand back as he howled in pain.

"You can't pick on someone who can defend themselves, can you, you fucking coward?"

I stood up and nudged his legs apart. He looked up at me, his nose bleeding and his mouth covered in blood, as well.

"Her pussy was hot for me," he whispered and a smile unfurled across his face. "She willingly gave it to me."

I lifted my leg and before he could react, my boot crashed down on his groin. I could feel his dick under my sole as he howled in pain and slumped to the side, holding his crotch.

"All talk and no balls," I smiled at him. "You willingly tried to _take_ it."

Again, my foot raised up and slammed down hard on his dick. I hear the roar of pain in his voice, and I bent down to look him in the face. He is bloody still, and his eyes are dripping pain tears.

"I bet that hurt," I told him, watching as his eyes closed in pain. "You won't be using that anytime soon. From the feel of it under my boot, its too fucking thin to satisfy any woman. Your not into fucking animals are you?"

"Fuck you," he mutters painfully.

"Thanks for the invitation," I told him, pulling his head up by the hair. "But I don't fuck pigs. You know…diseases and all that shit."

I stood again and drug him to his feet by his hair, pushing him hard against the wall. My face is inches from his, and I can smell the irony salt of his bloody mouth. He can barely keep his eyes open, so I shook him violently until his eyes pop open.

"I'm only going to say this once. Stay the fuck away from Bella. If I find you even looking her way, I will rip off your dick and balls and you can use the hole as a fucking vagina, do you understand me?"

"Fuck you," he whispered, spitting his blood in my face.

"Goodnight," I replied.

His expression marred confusion before my fist cracked his face and he slipped into darkness. I threw him to the floor, returned the spit, and stepped out the front door, closing it behind me before walking calmly back to my car. I had a flight to catch.

**[Bella:]**

Sensing my mother looking at me, I turned hastily away from the riverside and returned to my worn wicker lounger that stood on the sandy beach outside her lake home. Five days ago, I turned up at her door, unannounced, and asked her if I could move in with her. Though confused, she gave me entrance and took in the scowl on my face.

"_What happened in Forks, Isabella?" she had asked, reaching out and tucking a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. "Has your father done something stupid again?"_

_I bit my lip and shook my head. "No, not him," I assured her. "This will only be until I can find somewhere else to stay."_

"_You are welcome here for however long. What about your art stuff in Forks? Are you just going to leave it?"_

"_My art stuff…," I trailed off, thinking of how I once thought Edward was a sculpture in which to transform. "No, that's part of the reason I'm here. I'm not an art person__, mom."_

Looking back at my mother, who was retreating her worried looks behind a romance novel, I began to understand her reluctance to let me move to Forks when I was old enough. Her decision wasn't really weighed, being that I was old enough and I wanted to go. Now, after all that's happened, I was sure I wanted to leave Forks for good.

I had left a crying Rose at the airport, her sniffling only outdone by her bear hug before the plane took off. My dad, however, was tricky. I had called him only after landing in Florida, because I knew he would try to stop me. He had asked if there was a reason I chose to leave, and my response was truthful.

"_I had to do it," I told him honestly. "I had to get away from Forks."_

"_Is it because that Cullen kid did something to you, Bells? Did he break your heart?" he asked, his voice trying to remain neutral._

See, fathers have this natural ability to know what's wrong with their daughters without even asking. When I didn't answer, he clicked his tongue and sighed. He made me assure him that I would be staying with mom before he hung up.

As I watched the water creep to the sandy shore, my mind went back to Edward. For weeks after that night, he tried to call me, leaving messages on my machine until it was full, he stood outside my door for hours in the rain and wind waiting for me to come to the window, and he left messages with Rose any chance he could. I had ignored all of them, with the exception of one message you gave to Rose. It was the last letter before I left for Florida. At the airport, Rose had stuck it in my coat pocket and told me to read it when I got the chance. That chance came on the flight.

I glanced at my mother, who was wrapped in her novel, and reached into my beach bag beside me and pulled out the letter. The neatly folded letter smelled like paint and varnish, and raised memories that felt like a porno playing in my head. Carefully, I unfolded the letter and read the words I've read a million times:

_Dear Isabella,_

_I know that I am the last person you want to speak to right now, but please talk to me. It's killing me that you won't let me explain further what I want to explain. I didn't mean to hurt you the way I did, or cause you anymore suffering then you have endured. All I wanted-and still want-is you to be happy. I want to explain things to you without the fear you'll walk away from me like you did that night. _

_You left without saying anything other than goodbye, and that's not good enough, Bella. I want you to know that I would ever intentionally hurt you, and I was only trying to save you the pain of knowing that I knew what happened to you. Whatever happened to you those years ago does not matter to me. I don't care, and I don't think you are damaged or anything. I could never think that about you. What happened with Mike was a mistake-I should have never asked him for advice. There is no excuse for it, and for that I'm sorry._

_I didn't know when you walked into my studio that day that anything would happen. But you changed that, and I found myself wanting to be with you. I tried not to fall hard, but there was nothing I could do-it had already happened. I don't regret anything that's happened between us. Not the part where we met, not the teaching me to dance, not the making love…god, no, never the making love part. The only thing I regret between us, is the deception. I would change it if I could, Isabella. I found something in you that woke something in me…my painting is better when I think about you-but now that you're not here, I don't paint. I can't. I can't pick up a brush without knowing that the first thing I see when I finish and put the brush down is your face._

_I hope that you understand, and that you forgive me. This is the last letter I will leave with Rose, so I can only hope you get it and at least send me a 'fuck off' letter back. At least then I can sleep knowing you are getting along just fine._

_I love you, Isabella. I haven't stopped, I've been stuck between loving you and respecting you. Loving is respecting you, Bella. I want to touch you again-I need to. I hope you forgive me, and you can call my cell or office or have Rose deliver the message._

_Love you so much,_

_Edward_

I could feel a tear fall and splash onto the letter. Quickly, before my mother saw, I folded the letter back up and tucked it in the bag once more. Leaning my head back, I play that night all over again in my subconscious. The paint being spread all over the studio, the way Edward looked at me when I told him goodbye, the words he said that cut my heart into pieces…But reading his letter, there was such a desperation to it-as if he was trying to give me reasons to stay in Forks, which I knew was impossible because he had no idea I was leaving.

I thought about calling him just to tell him I was in Florida, or even calling him just so he could explain the letter, but I did not. I picked up the phone, but the numbers would not be pushed.

The late sun was setting, and my mother rose from her chair and stretched. She looked down at me and frowned.

"Are you going to Kate's party this evening, Bella? It would do you so much good," she said, reaching down for her bag and throwing the romance novel inside.

I shook my head. The last thing I wanted was to be around people, and I certainly was in no mood to party.

"No, but you go on and have fun," I told her. "I'll read or something."

She smiled feebly, and then headed up to the house to get ready. I gazed at the sun as it went down, casting a sullen shadow on the white beach sand and causing the water to turn dark blue. An hour later, as the lights from the house shone down on the beach, I stood, gathered my beach items in my hands, and started for the house. I was sure my mother was gone by now, and the internal house lights were darkened.

Half way up the wooden steps, I heard a faint sound. Almost as if a bird was chirping in the distance. I stopped to glance at the sky, but there were no birds overhead. Shrugging, I started walking once more. Again, a sound-this time louder-resonated from the distance. This time, however, it sounded like my name.

"Bella! Bella!"

I stopped in my tracks and waited, looking around nervously. Finally I saw something coming around the corner of the house; a man with his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. Squinting, I could make out a familiar tuft of hair.

"Edward?" I called out blankly, not sure if I was hallucinating or not.

As he came nearer, I knew this was not a hallucination, but a real man. Not just a man, but _Edward._

"Bella!" He yelled out as his eyes found me standing on the steps frozen in shock.

All I could do is watch as he jogged faster across the sandy bank and down the wooden steps to meet me. He ran up to me, grabbed the beach bag and tossed it aside forcefully, placed his hand on the small of my back and pressed me hard against his body. Not bothering with gentleness, he reached his hand under my chin and tipped it up, pressing his lips hungrily to mine.

Automatically, as if I melted right into him, my hands wrapped around his neck and my lips opened, inviting him inside my warm, moist mouth. Edward's hands found my waist and he pressed his fingers in making the friction against his body tighter. Gasping, he let my lips go and trailed his lips to my ear.

Softly, as if he had not just ran at me full speed, he whispered, "I missed you and I want you to come home with me."

Gently, not wanting to lose all contact with him, I pulled my body back from his and left my hand on his neck. Looking into his eyes, which were full of desire and relief, I whispered my answer back.

"I missed you, too. And I forgive you."

_**She said she forgave him...but does that necessarily mean she is going to go back to Forks? I wouldn't bet on it...unless Edward does something CUMpletely crazy ;) See you next chapter.**_


	13. Final Goodbye

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